The Iron Ring

by Lloyd Alexander

  "With your own people," Skanda said, "our numbers match close to Nahusha's."

  "What question, then?" Tamar said. "You'll attack, surely. Do as he did to us," he hurried on, his blood rising. "No warning, no challenge. Rules of war? He broke them."

  "So shall we. Sankula from the very start. Give him his fill of sankula until he chokes on it. He owes Ashwara a death. I'll see him pay." He fell abruptly silent. The rage that swept over him had brought, as well, the nightmare memories: the camp in flames, his terror, Ashwara bleeding his life away. The chandala had asked: Who should fear his own handiwork? He feared it. And hated it. Was he still a warrior? Had he ever been? Or had he become simply a washer of corpses?

  "Listen to an old campaigner," Darshan said quietly. "Will you let your anger cloud your common sense? Attack Nahusha? Inside the city, he's in a stronger position than any of us outside. He has no need to meet you in battle. Why should he? He'll only wait. What then? Lay siege? How long? We'd wear ourselves out to no purpose." Tamar nodded. "My words were empty, foolish ones. Yes, I see that."

  "Darshan is right," Kirin said. "Nahusha will do nothing but sit behind his walls and let us break our heads on them. If we could take the city by storm."

  "No," Mirri said. "You can't get close enough. There's something you don't know. The front gate's clear, but he's dug trenches all around the walls. Set with spikes and spearheads. Too wide to bridge, too deep to fill. They're death traps."

  "He holds us at arm's length," put in Skanda, "with no effort, no cost to himself."

  "That's right," Mirri said. "But only as long as he stays inside Ranapura. So, make him come out. There's a way."

  30. Mirri's Plan

  "Is this a gopi?" Darshan laughed goodheartedly and clapped his hands. "Here she sits, cool as you please, ready to tell kshatriyas how to go about their business. From the look of her, she knows more than milking cows. Say on, little gopi. What makes you think you'll get Nahusha to send out his troops and give us our chance against them?"

  "I might do even better than that," said Mirri.

  As Kirin and Skanda turned their full attention on her, she quickly told them the shape of her idea, warning it would take some days to set in motion. When she finished, the brothers spoke between themselves, asked her many questions, and, finally, agreed to the attempt.

  "I know tactics and order of battle," Darshan declared, "attacks and counterattacks, but never such a plan as this." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And yet, as the gopi lays it out, it might well serve. Yes, let her try. Come what may, I'm with her."

  Adi-Kavi and Hashkat were both willing. Even though Tamar agreed, he was still troubled. "Too much can go wrong. Too much risk."

  "Kirin and Skanda are willing," Mirri reminded him. "Your own commander, as well."

  "It's their trade to take risks," Tamar said. "I didn't mean them. I meant you. I lost you once. I won't lose you again."

  "You never lost me in the first place," Mirri said.

  "When it comes to the sort of mischief you have in mind," said Hashkat, impatient to follow Mirri's instructions, "my Bandar-loka won't fail you. I'm only surprised they didn't think of it themselves."

  Before the week was out, Akka had done all that Mirri had asked and was back in camp. Darshan, Kirin, and Skanda had already set their troops on the march toward Ranapura. They made no attempt to hide their movements. Instead, they stretched their ranks of warriors and chariots across the plain, in full sight. That alone, Tamar thought, should have been challenge enough, and an insolent dare; but he saw no sign of an answer from Nahusha.

  Early that morning, Tamar and Ashwara's brothers, bearing no weapons, mounted their horses and cantered across the plain. Adi-Kavi rode ahead, holding up a flag of truce. It was cool and quiet. The walls of Ranapura were soft pink in the first rays of the sun. The trees had come into rich foliage. There were still a few traces of the ruts left by the wheels of chariots and horses' hooves; but tender blades of new grass had begun to spring up, dew-covered, silvery green. What had been a killing ground looked no more than a pleasant stretch of open countryside. He could not pick out the rocky knoll where Ashwara died. He found that monstrous.

  Adi-Kavi, in his loudest royal crier's voice, began shouting for Nahusha to come and meet with them, declaring that someone wished to see him face to face. No answer came from the city. The horses pawed the turf and blew out steaming breath. Skanda glanced, questioning, at Tamar.

  They waited. Adi-Kavi was about to turn back, when the gates flung open. Nahusha stood in the prow of his chariot, flanked by a guard of bowmen. At a leisurely pace, he drew closer, until his driver reined up a few yards distant.

  "I heard dogs barking at my gate." Nahusha addressed Kirin, who had trotted forward. "Have you brought your pack for another whipping? What do you seek of me?"

  "Since you refuse to give battle, and fear to stand against us," replied Kirin, "I seek nothing else of you."

  "I do." Tamar had turned away and hung back a little, unobserved by Nahusha. He now urged Gayatri nearer to the chariot. "I seek your life."

  "It speaks?" Nahusha, taken aback for an instant, covered his surprise with a poisonous laugh. He raised an eyebrow and peered curiously at Tamar. "Remarkable. A piece of carrion, a less-than-nothing, actually ventures to say something to me. The animal seems to have slipped its leash. Its master will pay a high price for such inattention."

  "You, likewise," Tamar said. "Once, I wished for your death. I yearned to kill you with my own hands. No longer. It is your life, not your death, I seek. I want you to live, Nahusha. As I did. I learned much in the burning ground. For that, I thank you. I hope you too may learn. The chain you put me on waits for you."

  "What's this, what's this? Does the creature threaten me?" Nahusha replied. "Put me on a chain, indeed? Bold words. The doing is something else again. If this-this thing-were still a man, I would have it thrashed for its insolence. However, I take no notice of dunghills, let alone converse with them."

  Nahusha faced Kirin and Skanda. "Take the cur away. It offends my sensitivities and befouls my air. Take yourselves away, as well. It pains me too much to see kshatriyas, pitiful though they are, debase themselves with the company of a chandala. What sorry times we live in. You have sunk even lower than your brother.

  "You summoned me for this?" Nahusha went on. "Had you come begging to serve me, I might have been inclined to listen. You disturb me for no reason, waste my time, and try my patience. I have occupations more agreeable than the mouthings of a corpse-washer."

  "That is not our purpose," Skanda said. "You have a right to your trophies of war. We come to give back one you have lost."

  Hashkat, meantime, had driven up in a light, two wheeled cart. Seeing this, Nahusha pulled away.

  "What trophy?" he cried. "What treachery is this?"

  Hashkat reined in Jagati. At the rear of the cart, a heap of rags stirred. A shrouded figure rose up. The cloth wrappings fell away.

  Mirri stood smiling at Nahusha.

  "The gopi!" Nahusha burst out, his face livid with rage. "Alive!"

  "Am I?" Mirri answered. "How could I be? You saw me die. Your warriors watched me burn."

  For the first time, Nahusha's arrogant bearing was shaken. He stared at her in fear and revulsion as she held out her hands, beckoning to him.

  "Come," urged Mirri, "I've been impatient for you to journey with me. You'll see many strange things along the way."

  "Trickery!" Nahusha shouted, horrified nonetheless. "Illusion!"

  "Are you sure?" Mirri said. "If I'm an illusion, why fear me? If I'm alive, claim your prize again. Come, find out for yourself-if you dare."

  "Keep away! Don't touch me!" cried Nahusha, recoiling as Mirri made to climb from the cart. "You reek of the shmashana."

  "You used to find me attractive," said Mirri. "I'm disappointed in you, Nahusha."

  "Ghost or gopi, I stomach none of your mockery. Flesh and blood? I'll see that." He motioned to the bowman cl
osest to his chariot. "Shoot!"

  The warrior drew his bow and sped the arrow plunging into Mirri's breast.

  31. The Bandar-loka

  Mirri looked down calmly at the arrow. She gave a little shrug of unconcern as she pulled out the shaft and threw it aside.

  "I thought you'd be glad to see me." Mirri shook her head regretfully. "I'd hardly call this a fond welcome. Come, Nahusha. I'm waiting for you."

  "Shoot again!" Nahusha's face twisted in fear and fury. "Dead or living, kill her! Kill them all!"

  Mirri made no attempt to move. The bewildered warrior notched another arrow to the string. No sooner did he draw the bow than the stave snapped in his hand.

  "Enough of that," said Mirri. "You could hurt someone. Have a care. I might take you with me, too."

  The warrior gaped at her, then at his shattered bow. He backed away. His terrified comrades dashed for the gates and he fled after them.

  Raging and cursing, Nahusha snatched the reins from his driver, wheeled the chariot, and sent it racing toward the city. Adi-Kavi sought to bar the way, but Nahusha plunged past as if Mirri's vengeful ghost were at his heels. Darshan's horsemen and charioteers had broken from cover to charge across the plain. Troops poured from the city gates. Nahusha's commanders, seeing their king in peril and Ranapura coming under attack, had taken their own decision to meet the oncoming assault. "That brought them out faster than I hoped," said Mirri. "Hashkat, it's time to leave. We have other things to do."

  Tamar's worst moment of fear for Mirri had passed. The breastplate of tough leather, padded with rags hidden beneath her robes, had shielded her. Now all depended on the Bandar-loka.

  He clapped his heels against Gayatri's flanks and set off after Nahusha. Kirin and Skanda galloped to join their troops advancing on the city. Nahusha, Tamar saw, was forcing his chariot through his warriors' ranks, trampling and running them over in his haste to reach the gates. Flailing at his men with the flat of his sword, Nahusha shouted at them to withdraw inside the city. It was too late; his commands went unheeded; the battle had gained momentum and a will of its own, as yet more warriors streamed out.

  By now, the leading ranks of Darshan's horsemen had clashed with Nahusha's troops. Tamar had only one thought: Nahusha. He galloped clear of the press of foot soldiers and riders. He strained his eyes for a glimpse of him through the rising clouds of dust.

  At the same time, one of Nahusha's chariots burst through the ranks of warriors. The driver lashed the horses to greater speed. The kshatriya on the fighting platform brandished a spear. Before he could hurl it, the chariot jolted to the ground. A wheel had spun loose from its axle. Kicking and bucking, the horses broke free of the shafts. Trailing their harness, they bolted from the wreckage. Warrior and driver ran for safety within their ranks.

  Tamar cried out in triumph. The Bandar-loka! Night after night, following Mirri's plan, a secret army of monkeys had scaled the front wall of the city. Like silent, long-tailed shadows, they slipped into guard rooms and stores of weapons. They loosened chariot wheels, frayed bowstrings, weakened bowstaves with unseen cuts from thin blades; the bow that shattered in the archer's hand had been the work of their deft fingers. The Bandar-loka had done all they could to cause as much hidden damage as possible.

  Akka himself had brazenly stolen into Ranapura a dozen times or more in broad daylight. He perched impudently on rooftops, scuttled among the fruit sellers in the marketplace until he became a familiar sight and harmless amusement. Yet he kept shrewd eyes and ears open, bringing back whatever news he gleaned.

  Tamar galloped to snatch up the kshatriya's discarded spear. The Bandar-loka's work had begun taking a heavier toll. Several more of Nahusha's chariots raced into combat, only to overturn as linchpins broke, wheels fell off, and harness leathers parted. For each arrow that flew straight, another was likely to miss its mark or fall from the archer's hand as the bowstring snapped.

  Still seeking Nahusha, Tamar urged Gayatri into the fray. Rage swept away fear as he forced his way through the press of warriors. Some thrust at him with their swords or tried to pull him from the saddle. He struck them aside with the spear shaft; their lives were not worth taking. If he was to have blood on his hands it would be Nahusha's alone, as Ashwara himself had vowed.

  At first, when so many of their weapons failed them, Nahusha's troops had fallen into disarray. Now, they rallied and fought with the strength of despair. The wreckage of chariots had been turned into barricades; from behind them, warriors hurled chakras, the deadly, sharp-edged iron disks. The lines of battle surged back and forth.

  Darshan had galloped up to him. "Fall back! Fall back!"

  Tamar could barely hear his shouts over the clash of arms. When he heard, he could not understand. When he understood, his heart sank. Darshan was pointing toward the gates. Nahusha had sent out his war elephants.

  One after another, the immense animals lumbered onto the battlefield. The elephant masters goaded them onward as the kshatriyas mounted on their backs flung spears and chakras. Kirin's foot troops, running to support Darshan, wheeled away to escape being trampled under the elephants' feet or gored by their iron-capped tusks. Nahusha's warriors took heart, cheering as the gigantic beasts plowed ahead, scattering all in their path.

  Tamar sighted Hashkat astride Jagati and urged Gayatri to his side. "The plan's gone wrong. What happened?"

  Hashkat only grinned from ear to ear. That same instant, from the woodlands at the edge of the plain, came a rumbling like the beating of great drums. The ground shook as the pounding grew louder, a rolling thunder over the din of battle.

  A huge bull elephant charged onto the field, trunk upraised, trumpeting at the top of his voice. Arvati followed, with Akka perched on her shoulders. Behind her, a herd of elephants bellowed and tossed their heads as the ranks of Darshan's warriors parted to let them pass.

  Nahusha's elephants halted in their tracks. First one, then another, then all flapped their ears, waved their trunks, and trumpted in joyful recognition. The mahouts goaded them mercilessly to attack, but they reared up to shrug off their riders and send them headlong to the ground.

  Arvati and her kindred moved steadily across the field. Nahusha's elephants paid no heed to the threats and commands of their masters, but eagerly joined Arvati and their long-lost relatives. Free of their tormentors, they swept away the barricades of wrecked chariots. The warriors scrambled to escape, only to find themselves beset by other foes.

  Through the gates rushed wild boars, slashing with curved tusks; wolves, snarling and snapping, followed them; a half-starved tiger and a ragged-maned lion sprang roaring into the midst of the terrified troops.

  "More monkey's work!" Hashkat bounced up and down on the saddle. "They've unbolted Nahusha's animal cages!"

  Seeing their foe in such confusion, Kirin and Skanda joined forces with Darshan to press a renewed attack. Some of Nahusha's troops had thrown down their weapons and raced in panic from the field. Others tried to make a stand as best they could. The folk of Ranapura had flung shut the gates, leaving the embattled warriors no choice but to fight or fly.

  From the tail of his eye, Tamar glimpsed a burly, white robed figure heaving his way into the midst of Nahusha's ranks. He thought, first, it was a brahmana gone mad, then saw the powerful arms and shaggy head.

  "Jamba-Van!" Tamar cried, as the bear charged on, dashing to the ground all who stood in his way, as if they were no more than pieces of crockery in his ashrama. He turned and saw Mirri.

  "Keep back!" Mirri had changed her shroud for hunter's buckskins; and, long hair flying, she sat astride Soma-Nandi.

  The tiger, teeth bared and tail lashing, bounded abreast of Tamar. "Stay clear. Leave the rest to Arvati."

  As she spoke, Tamar saw the herd of elephants break off their rampage. Arvati was beckoning with her trunk. All her kindred hurried to join her; and, shoulder to shoulder, the elephants formed a massive gray wall to surround the remnants of Nahusha's defeated army.

&nbs
p; At the same time, Tamar caught sight of Nahusha's chariot. The driver had jumped out to run for his life. Nahusha, gripping the reins, lashed savagely at the horses. The chariot careened along the wall.

  Tamar kicked his heels against Gayatri's flanks. Nahusha had slewed the chariot around the angle of the wall, but Tamar galloped after him through the ranks of retreating warriors. Nahusha was rapidly outdistancing him.

  At full stretch, Gayatri checked and nearly stumbled. Ahead, Nahusha's chariot skidded to a halt and tipped sideways. The horses foundered, broke free of the shafts. Gayatri swerved, almost plunging into the wreckage. It took Tamar a moment to understand: Nahusha had driven too close to the edge of the pits encircling the city.

  Tamar halted and swung down from Gayatri. Nahusha had clambered out of the disabled chariot.

  "Well, well, here's the corpse-washer." Nahusha set his hands on his hips as Tamar leveled the spear. "It seems to have found a pointed stick. Does the creature play at being a warrior?"

  Tamar took a pace toward him. "As I told you, Nahusha, I want your life, not your death. Surrender. Face justice honorably and I vow to let you live."

  "You bargain with me?" Nahusha glanced scornfully at Tamar. "You want my life? Then come and get it. Throw your little stick at me. I have no weapon. I broke my sword on one of the rabble you sent against me. Are you afraid to kill an unarmed man? You were so eager, once, to challenge me. Now it is I who challenge you. In even combat, hand to hand, by the warrior's code of honor. Have you the stomach to face a real kshatriya on equal terms? As I warned you, corpse-washer, I bite very hard."

  Tamar gripped the spear shaft and drew back his arm, fury mounting at Nahusha's contempt. In his ears rang Ashwara's question on the eve of battle: Can any man kill and keep his heart pure, or is all slaughter alike? And the chandala asking: How are you different from Nahusha? With an anguished cry, he flung away the spear and sprang to grapple with him.