The Conspiracy at Meru

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Sword in one hand and a short dagger in the other, Udayasanga crept along the deck, his eyes on a knot of four Hunas who stood to the left of the deck, their backs to him. Beside him, spread out in a ragged line, were his six mates, each focused on his chosen target. They had covered under half the distance to their prey when, all of a sudden, the deck illuminated as a missile was ignited on the other ship. One of the guards in Udayasanga’s sights turned idly to observe the missile’s launch. The light caught the guard’s face square, the dark hriiz carved on his forehead stark against his oily brown skin.

  In an instant, the guard’s expression switched from passive interest to alarm.

  “Urug ha’kyi, ayo!” The guard shouted, flinging his arm and pointing over the water in the direction of the second ship.

  Udayasanga didn’t understand a word, but the panicked pitch told him an alert had been raised. Ducking low, he darted a glance at the other ship. As the catapult’s arm jerked and arced, lifting the fireball into the air, Udayasanga saw two bare-bodied samsaptakas, swords in their hands, etched clearly in its light. In despair, he noted that the two warriors were nowhere close to the fifteen-odd Hunas grouped around the agnikantaka. Worse, the shrillness of the guard’s voice had carried across the water, and all the Huna warriors on the other deck were swinging around to look at the interlopers.

  With a sinking feeling, Udayasanga realized that not a single samsaptaka was within striking distance of either flamethrower, and their cover was already blown.

  “Da’aro meke.”

  Udayasanga turned back to the Hunas in front of him to see that one of them – a lean and hardened warrior wielding a heavy, long-handled axe – was taking charge of the situation.

  “Da’aro meke,” he snapped once again, louder, his eyes flashing in anger. “Ozheb yan’tah.”

  One of the guards unhooked a ram horn that hung at his hip. As he raised the horn to his lips to sound an alarm and summon help, Udayasanga heard a roar of voices from the other ship’s deck, followed by the stamping of feet and the clash of metal.

  The horn’s hollow, mournful echo resonated across the deck, drowning out all other noises. Taking advantage of the din, Udayasanga and his samsaptakas broke cover and rushed at the Hunas, swords and daggers flashing in the firelight.

  The speed of their attack was frightening. They narrowed the distance to the guards in a matter of seconds, shadows brandishing swords, bearing down upon the Hunas before they could realize that their ship too was under attack. Udayasanga’s sword sliced through the midriff of the guard closest to him, almost cutting him open in half. Even as the guard grabbed the side of his stomach and sank to his knees, his scream lost in the blare of the horn, Udayasanga leaped at a second warrior, a well-placed slash at the wrist making the Huna lose his sword in agony. Coming in close and cramping him so the warrior had limited room to maneuver, the samsaptaka buried his dagger deep in the guard’s neck, giving the blade a vicious twist so it severed several arteries. At the same time, Udayasanga lashed out with his sword at the guard blowing the horn, but being constrained for space, he only managed inflicting a painful gash along the man’s shoulder and upper arm.

  The guard let the horn drop from his lips with a yelp. The same instant, a sword of another samsaptaka ran through the guard. The horn’s moan fell away into the waters of the bay, quickly replaced by the harsher grunts and screams of the battle raging on the two decks.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Udayasanga saw the lean Huna heave his axe over his right shoulder. In the split second it took the Huna to balance himself to deal the blow, Udayasanga judged that the man was aiming for his broad, exposed back. Instead of making a move, the samsaptaka held still, clutching the guard whom he had stabbed in the neck close to his chest, gouts of the dead man’s blood spraying over him.

  Uttering a ferocious curse, the Huna swung his axe at Udayasanga. The samsaptaka waited just long enough for the man to commit himself to the strike – so he couldn’t check or correct himself – before he spun on his heel, hoisting and swinging the dead Huna around so the dead body was between him and the scything head of the axe. The axe buried itself into the Huna’s back with a crunch of bones, the force of the blow and the weight of the dead body propelling Udayasanga back two steps.

  Recovering quickly – and giving his attacker no time to think – Udayasanga shoved the body that had shielded him to one side. The axe was buried so deep that the sudden movement yanked the Huna axeman forward, throwing him a bit off balance. The samsaptaka instantly stepped up and drove the dagger hard into the Huna’s face, ramming the point of the blade between the man’s eyes, right under the clumsy mark of the hriiz. As the Huna’s head rocked back and his mouth opened in a bloodcurdling howl, Udayasanga kicked him on the chest and pulled the dagger free. While the axeman pawed at his face, which was drenching in blood, Udayasanga stepped in once again and stabbed him right under the sternum.

  Letting the Huna fall back on the deck, the samsaptaka took stock of the assault. All around him, the fight was in full swing. His mates had fared almost as well as he had – he could see five of them cutting and thrusting at the Hunas in wild melee, bodies sprawled at their feet. Looking around, he saw a familiar figure lying to one side, a red blossom of blood at the throat – one of the samsaptakas charged with destroying the agnikantaka.

  The sight of his fallen comrade brought an angry flush to Udayasanga’s face, but the thought of the flamethrower sobered him. That was what they were here for, he reminded himself.

  Seeing the agnikantaka perched on the deck unprotected, Udayasanga reached for the handle of the axe that was sticking out of the dead Huna’s back. With a savage twist, he prised the weapon free and headed for the catapult.

  That was when the first arrow struck him on his chest, just under his right shoulder.

  Bands of pain shot across his chest and shoulder and ran down his arm, making him tighten his grip on the axe. In surprise, he looked at the feathered shaft impaled right in front of his face. Then, as another arrow thudded into the wooden deck, inches from his feet, Udayasanga realized what was happening. It was the Huna archers from the surrounding ships.

  Wrenching the arrow’s shaft out with a snap, the samsaptaka made a dash for the agnikantaka. Arrows zinged past him, one grazing him high on the forehead, making the blood run, but he stayed his course. From behind, he could hear choked screams as men were cut and skewered by sword and arrow. Still he ran, thinking of nothing but the catapult.

  Reaching the contraption, Udayasanga swung the axe at one of its four supporting legs. The wood was old and hard, and though the beam splintered near the surface, the impact wasn’t deep enough. The samsaptaka took another swing at the leg, and this time the axe went a little deeper. As he raised his hands high for the next swipe, an arrow drilled into his stomach. His breath left him in a rush, and he doubled over in agony.

  They could have donned their armours and helmets, but the armour would have weighed them down in the water. Wincing and gulping air as he leaned on the axe, Udayasanga knew they had made the right decision. They would never have made it this far wearing armour.

  A third arrow found him, this time piercing his right thigh, immediately above the knee.

  Gritting his teeth, Udayasanga straightened. Breaking both arrows off and casting them aside, he raised the axe and brought it down hard on the beam. The violence of the blow sent jolts of stinging pain up his arms, but with a loud crack, the beam buckled and broke. Without pausing for a moment, Udayasanga turned his attention to the catapult’s second leg.

  He hacked and chopped without cease, and arrows hit him without respite. By the time he had cleaved the flamethrower’s third leg, he had stopped removing the arrows. Blood from two wounds on his head mixed with sweat and flowed down his face in rivulets, catching and clotting on his flamboyant beard and moustache.

  When the fourth and final leg gave way, the agnikantaka toppled with a crash that made the ship shimmy uncertain
ly in the water. Letting the axe slip from his grasp, Udayasanga dropped to the deck on all fours, his head hanging while he caught his ragged breath. One eye had gummed over with clotting blood, and the spittle on his lips had flecks of blood in it as well.

  He lifted his head and peered along the deck where the samsaptakas and the ship’s guards were still locked in combat. A flurry of arrows from the other Huna ships rained down on the fighters, and every now and then, an arrow struck someone – sometimes a samsaptaka, sometimes a Huna.

  The ruthlessness of the Huna strategy made Udayasanga’s blood run cold.

  The distance between the ships was too much – and the night too dark – for their archers to be able to distinguish Huna from samsaptaka. Yet the archers shot their arrows, not caring whether they hit friend or foe. What mattered to the savages was clearing their ships of enemies and protecting the flamethrowers. Killing off a few dozens of their own warriors to meet that objective was clearly not too heavy a burden for the Huna conscience to bear.

  These people had no mercy. And these people now wanted to take Sindhuvarta. If they succeeded, Udayasanga understood how it would end. He threw his head back and bared his teeth to the sky in a guttural yell that was rage, fear and helplessness. Then, staggering to his feet, he broke into a hobbling run.

  Destroying the agnikantakas wasn’t good enough. The Hunas deserved much worse.

  Udayasanga ran past the few fighters still left standing, his eyes on the small torch that the Hunas had used to light the fireballs. The torch lay guttering on the deck, emitting weak blue flames. Ignoring the arrows that missed him by mere inches, he traversed the length of the ship and went down painfully on one knee to retrieve the torch.

  He blew hard on the embers, coaxing life into them until three tongues of orange flame erupted. Taking the rescued torch, he made for the pile of unlit fireballs placed in one corner of the deck. Oil, sulphur and mustard. That was all it had taken the Hunas to set Dvarka ablaze. It was time to return the favour.

  An arrow pierced Udayasanga from behind, striking him below the left shoulder blade. It went deep, smashing through flesh and bone before perforating a lung. The samsaptaka coughed and teetered, blood spilling from his lips. Still he persevered, swaying and stumbling toward the stack of fireballs. His legs gave under him, but he crawled and clawed forward until he reached the pile.

  Stretching his hand out, he touched the torch to the nearest ball. Nothing happened for a moment. Then the incendiary mix in the fireball sparked and caught. The fire spread quickly from one ball to the next, flames leaping and soaring in eagerness. The wooden deck began smouldering underneath, while the masts and the sails started combusting overhead. The deck lit up, first yellow, then bright orange.

  The glow from the fire shone on Udayasanga’s face, streaked with grime, sweat and blood. It flared in his dark eyes as he lay still on the deck, his gaze frozen, staring into eternity.

  * * *

  The splash in the water was so loud in the stillness of the hut that it startled Jayanta out of his meditative trance, forcing his eyes open.

  The sudden exposure to the brightness of the lamps made him wince and blink, even as the brassy echo of water ringing on metal zinged and dwindled in his ears. As his vision adjusted to the light, the prince looked down at the copper bowl. The water in the bowl rocked and swayed in a gentle motion – it was already on its way to regaining calm – but whatever had caused the disturbance had sent a shower of droplets over the bowl’s lip onto the mud-baked floor.

  Jayanta edged closer and peeked into the bowl.

  At first, he saw nothing but his own shadowy face, stretching and distorting in rhythm with the water’s movement, reflected in the shallow depths. Then his heart skipped a beat.

  A ripple. Not on the water’s surface, where ripples are generally observed, but at the very bottom of the vessel.

  Not even a ripple, really. More a slither.

  An extended, elongated slither along the curvature of the bowl, like the dart of an eel, except there was no eel. There was no body or form or substance either. Just a vague, sinuous current – shaped out of water, slipping away and disappearing into the water it had sprung from.

  The prince’s breath caught in his throat and his cheeks flushed with excitement. He was on the right track.

  Sitting back, he resumed chanting under his breath, but he kept an eye on the bowl. Within moments, tiny bubbles started forming at the bottom of the bowl, rising to the surface in thin jets as the water’s temperature changed. Unexpectedly, there was another violent upheaval, a churning, as three slithering crosscurrents nipped and chased one another, tails lashing in anger. The turbulence yielded another splash, this one louder than the one before, and water drizzled around the bowl, a few drops scalding Jayanta’s exposed legs and feet.

  The prince, however, was too far gone to notice, his lips chanting furiously, eyes glittering and crazed with the lust for revenge. He could sense that Ahi was finally within hailing distance. Any moment now, he would gain control of the terror.

  Any moment now, his fortunes – and the fortunes of the human king and his city – were set to change.

  Fleet

  The atmosphere along the ship’s deck was turning rancid with sweat and fear. In every breath he took, Vararuchi could smell the panic, base and pungent, radiating feverishly off the bodies pressed around him. It mingled in the briny air, mixing with the drifts of toxic smoke that hung over their heads, curdling in the humidity, a miasmic concoction of foulness that made the stomach churn. And when he chanced to look into the eyes of the men, all staring rigidly at the silhouettes of the Huna ships that were steadily drawing closer, the councilor glimpsed the dread lurking in their souls.

  Give this lot enough time and they would kill themselves with fear, Vararuchi sighed unhappily to himself, bracing his legs against the deck as he gazed over the choppy waters at the nearest Huna ship, tossing less than half a mile away. He then glanced backward, over the heads of the hundred-odd perspiring men crammed on the deck, at the straggling line of boats ferrying more soldiers from Dvarka to the Anarta ships waiting in the bay.

  “Watch out! The arrows are coming again!”

  The warning came from one of the lookouts posted near the prow, and this time, almost as one, the men on the deck went down in a crouch, raising their shields above their heads to guard themselves from the lethal shafts shot from the Huna ship. Vararuchi did likewise, not bothering to check if their ship was, indeed, the target of the Huna archers. If they were, they would know soon enough. Instead, folding himself as tightly as possible, he huddled under his shield, waiting for the arrows to come down around him again, anticipating cries of pain as the barbs inevitably found some unprotected, fleshy target. The first volley aimed at the ship had already claimed three soldiers and gravely injured four others.

  The screams did come, but not from close. This time they were from much further away, from somewhere beyond the ship’s deck.

  “They’ve gone back to attacking the boats,” someone announced in a frenzied voice.

  Cursing under his breath, the councilor rose and looked back in the direction of the boats. The five boats were too far for him to tell which ones had been on the Huna archers’ sights, though he sensed that all five had been. He thought he saw a figure in one of the boats slouch forward and fall.

  “We need to move faster,” Vararuchi shouted. Looking around, he caught Manidhara’s eye. “Can we speed up the ship, good chief? We must stop their archers quickly.”

  “The oarsmen are rowing as hard as they can, councilor,” the chieftain from Raivata replied dismally. “It’s the best they can do in such rough waters.”

  “We should have got archers of our own along,” Vararuchi gave a rueful sigh.

  His gaze drifted from Manidhara to the burning wreckage of the two Huna ships with the flamethrowers on board. The protective formation around them had long scattered, and both ships sat exposed in the bay, derelict a
nd abandoned, two small islands of tarry fumes and fire that were imploding and going underwater in bits and pieces. The sight of the first ship erupting in flames in the darkness was fresh in the councilor’s mind, and when, moments later, the second ship caught fire, the cheer that had broken out and spread through Dvarka had been deafening. The rain of fireballs had ceased forthwith, prompting Yugandhara and Vararuchi to marshal the defenders for a swift offensive.

  Their counterattack, however, started coming apart almost before it began, taking much of the euphoria with it. Just as the first few boatloads of soldiers rowed out to the Anarta ships anchored offshore, the sea unexpectedly turned turbulent, forcing the first change in plans. Despite being well-trained, efficient and hardy fighters, the troops from Avanti were poor sailors; with the sea heaving around violently, they would be hopeless in open waters. So, with the exception of Vararuchi and a handful of others who had some sailing experience, the rest of Avanti’s troops had stayed back in Dvarka, leaving the challenge of meeting the Hunas at sea squarely on Anartas’ soldiers.

  Overwhelmed as they were by this, there was worse in store for the Federation’s troops. The blaze in Dvarka had lit up the wharfs, and the boats heading out to the Anarta ships were plainly visible to the Hunas in the bay. The Hunas had quickly pressed their archers into service, attacking the outgoing boats and inflicting severe casualties on the defenders. Less than half the soldiers in each boat made it to the Anarta ships alive, and even these were often too grievously wounded to carry on a fight.

  Struck by the absurdity and futility of running this gauntlet, Vararuchi had put forth an audacious proposal. He and Manidhara were already on board two of the ships, with a little over two hundred men for company. Instead of waiting endlessly for the entire fleet to be ready – and putting boatloads of men at the mercy of the Huna archers - the councilor had proposed storming the vessels carrying the archers, giving the Federation’s troops a better chance at crossing over to the remaining ships.