Sword of the Deceiver

by Sarah Zettel

  “No, Makul …” The unseen tiger roared. The night air felt suddenly close. Samudra couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. The world was filled with eyes watching and ears listening and knives everywhere, and Makul stood alone and unarmed before him.

  “You were willing to sacrifice me when I was one of a handful, my prince, why not now?” Makul cocked his head toward Samudra. Then he went on more softly, and infinitely more sadly. “Or did you think to tell the emperor I aided you in your deception and so I should be spared while those who trusted me are gutted by Divakesh’s sword?”

  Samudra turned his face away. There was nothing he could say to that.

  “Yes, you should be ashamed, my prince,” said the old soldier harshly. “It was unworthy of you. You cannot be partially true to an oath.” He spread his hands. “I am a traitor. You know that. I believe you should be emperor, not your brother who leaves us at the mercy of Pravan’s idiocy and Divakesh’s fanaticism. If your loyalty is to Hastinapura and the emperor, why do you hesitate to bring me to the justice I deserve?”

  “I wanted only …”

  At this, Makul spat. “What do you want, Samudra? Do you even know?”

  Samudra bowed his head. He could not look at his teacher any longer. He could not look at anything. He squeezed his eyes closed and in his mind’s eye he saw his brother. He saw the boys they had both been. He saw the fear in Chandra’s eyes as the imperial crown was settled at last on his head. “I wanted to save him, Makul. That was all.”

  “You cannot. He has already doomed himself.”

  Samudra’s head jerked up. What could he know of Chandra’s doom? The Makul who stood before him in the silver light and thick shadows looked suddenly strange, scarcely human. The whites of his eyes shone too brightly and his skin shimmered with celestial light. “Who are you?” Samudra croaked.

  But Makul just spread his hands. “I am your teacher and I am your servant, my prince,” he said. “Who did you believe me to be?”

  Samudra shook his head. “Nothing. I … she said she would come again when I was ready to speak from who I was. I thought for a moment …”

  “What did you think?”

  Samudra opened his mouth to tell him, but then, a sudden sound caught his ears. Someone ran toward them. Makul heard it too, and now they both saw a light carried by a figure in woman’s dress bobbing above the grass as its bearer ran as if for her life. Samudra’s mouth went suddenly dry. He might not know who stood with him, but he knew the tall form that raced toward him.

  He thrust the hunting spear into Makul’s hand and ran toward Natharie, leaving his startled teacher to trail behind him. Samudra grasped Natharie’s arms to keep her from colliding with him and saw her eyes wide with fear beneath her plain veil.

  “What is it?” he cried, half-afraid, half-despairing. How could she have left seclusion again, again. Would she never understand this could mean her death? What was she trying to do?

  “Samudra …” she gasped, struggling for breath. “Word has … Radana … from my father …”

  “Who is this?” hissed Makul, coming up behind them, the spear point lowered.

  Natharie stared at the other man, the same question clearly in her own mind.

  “This is Commander Makul, Natharie. He is my right arm.” Even now. Samudra took back the spear. “Tell me what’s happened.”

  She mastered herself with the strength that he had always seen in her, and she told him what had happened, of the woman Radana, of Hamsa’s intervention, and the news of rebellion from the court of Sindhu.

  “Mothers all,” whispered Makul.

  A thousand different thoughts tumbled through Samudra’s mind, but one shone out clearly among all the others. Even if Hamsa managed to delay word of this rebellion reaching the emperor, Natharie could not return to the small domain. To send her back there was to condemn her to death.

  “You must take the great princess to the docks,” he said to Makul. “Find a boat. She must go back to Sindhu and warn them what is coming.” Makul nodded, accepting these strange orders with a soldier’s discipline. “I will …” What will I do? What can I do? Let her go and then go back and … and …

  Hamsa. Hamsa is alone with this now.

  “I must go back inside.” He was already two steps back toward his horse, when Natharie stopped him with his name.

  “Samudra. If you go back, you’ll … they’ll send you to Sindhu …”

  He also had thought of this. If his plans were not discovered, he would remain in command of all the emperor’s forces. He would be sent to deal with the little rebellious Awakened protectorate as he had dealt with Lohit, and probably Divakesh would go with him. “Yes.”

  Natharie drew back. The lamp in her hand trembled, making the light across her face flicker so badly he could not tell which was stronger in her, anger or betrayal. “You cannot mean you would do this.”

  “Natharie, it must be me.” Understand, please understand. “If I lead the army, there is a chance this will not be a slaughter. There will be a chance for honor and surrender, and a just peace. If it is left to Pravan and Divakesh” — and Chandra — “what do you think will happen to your family and your people?”

  She winced, turning her face away. He heard the tiger roar again in the distance, and his hands shifted the spear to a ready hold before he knew what he had done. If he was to save any of them, he must move quickly. But he could not go until he was certain Natharie trusted him. He would not part from her while she believed he would betray her. He could not. She looked into his eyes and nodded, clearly holding back too many feelings and too many thoughts. But still he could see that she did understand, and, more, she believed.

  “You must go now. You can trust Makul,” he added to Natharie. “I owe him my life a hundred times over.” And perhaps one day he will forgive me for what I meant to do.

  But this time, it was Makul who hesitated. “My prince, it is dangerous for you to return.”

  Samudra felt a small smile forming. My right arm. Even now. “Hamsa is still inside, Makul. I cannot leave her to face this alone.”

  As Makul moved to her side, Samudra saw Natharie still watching him. There was fear in her eyes, for herself, but also for him, and some perverse part of himself found strength in that fear.

  “Go with care, Natharie.” It was nothing like what he wished to say, but he would not leave her with promises he might never be able to fulfill.

  She nodded and let Makul lead her to the road that showed faint and grey in the starlight. Samudra did not stand to watch them vanish. Instead, he ran back to the grooms and his horse.

  “Give the signal to start the hunt.” He threw himself into Rupak’s saddle.

  The groom hesitated, and for a moment Samudra thought the man might break all discipline and question him. But no, he just turned to his junior, who thrust a bundle of reeds into the lamp he tended and when it kindled, raised it high, waving it back and forth.

  Samudra sent Rupak cantering down the road a little ways before turning the horse’s head toward the tiger’s roar. The cage was open by now and the beast was free in the darkness. How had things come to such a pass that the great predator was the least of his worries? He gripped his spear tightly. When he could no longer see the grooms’ lamps, he turned Rupak hard to the left, doubling back toward the palace. The horse was skittish underneath him, fearing what he scented on the wind.

  So do I, old friend. So do I.

  Samudra circled the palace as widely as he could, keeping always to the shadows and heading for the practice yard. Natharie had gotten out of the palace proper through the garrison tunnels; he would reenter it the same way. He would find Hamsa, and then return, gather up his grooms, and hunt down the tiger to keep his ruse whole. It would not last long, but it would give him time to question this woman Radana and decide what was best to do.

  It would give him time to master his anger against the king and queen of Sindhu. How could they endanger their daughter who
loved them so well that she had already given her life for the peace of her land?

  Did they truly believe death would be better for her than life in the small domain?

  Then, Samudra remembered the bright, contemptuous eyes of the king of Lohit when the man spoke of Hastinapura and the corruption of its priests and its soldiers.

  Yes. Yes, they do believe that. We are so tightly walled in here in all our absolute purity and power that those we rule believe the worst of us.

  Samudra cantered along the road at the edge of the practice yard. He raised his spear in salute to the men on the walls who could not help but see a form on horseback. He reined up Rupak in front of the stables. Leading the horse to an empty stall, he loosened the bridle and made sure there was hay. The grooms and their master snored in their lofts overhead, and Samudra made a note to reprimand the man for not keeping better watch, and to light incense to the Mothers as penance for allowing such a lapse.

  Kindling a lamp from the coals banked in the stove, Samudra lifted the trapdoor and climbed down the ladder, blessing the ones who had realized that if trouble ever came to the palace, there should be a way to get to the horses. More than one prince had used this low, dirt-scented tunnel as an escape route to adventure out beyond the walls. He himself had done so often enough in his youth. He tried to remember if Chandra had ever come out with him, and found to his shock he could not.

  The stable tunnel joined up with the broader, brighter network beneath the walls. It was mostly storerooms down here, but there were always guards stationed in the ancient chambers and patrolling the corridors. He heard voices, and the steady tread of men’s feet. He had one more reason to thank his teacher. Makul had insisted that young Samudra know the tunnels and their routine as he knew the corridors of the small domain, and Samudra now marched through them keeping just around the corner and just far enough ahead of the patrols to keep from being seen clearly.

  As soon as he was underneath the palace proper, he found one of the servants’ doors and raced up the winding stairs. When Hamsa had done what was needful with Radana, she would return to his rooms, as she had the night he met Mother A-Kuha. He was certain of that.

  Samudra reached the seventh ring. He turned down one of the curving corridors that led into its heart. He held his lamp up high so he could pick out the faded symbols scratched on the stained and splintery doors. Here was a window, meaning this door opened on the viewing chamber, and here was a star, meaning he had found the chamber of the first prince.

  Samudra pushed the door gently open. Light spilled through, but no sound accompanied it. He peered through the door and saw his attendant Amandad kneeling on the floor, his head in both hands. Fresh fear touched him and Samudra eased himself through the door, closing it carefully behind him.

  Amandad heard the sound and jumped, spinning around. He was grey as a ghost.

  “My prince!” Amandad rushed up to make his obeisance directly at Samudra’s feet.

  “What is it, Amandad?” he asked, his gaze darting around the room. Except for his man, the chamber was empty. “Have you seen Hamsa?”

  “My prince …” Amandad began, then he choked as if suddenly realizing what question had been asked. “Agnidh Yamuna has taken Agnidh Hamsa to the emperor, with another woman, an outsider …”

  Yamuna had Hamsa? And the other woman, that could only be this Radana, and they were being taken to the emperor. Hamsa had failed in her attempt to conceal the woman. Samudra brushed past Amandad. I cannot leave Hamsa to this.

  “My prince, Queen Prishi is dead!”

  Samudra froze in his tracks. Behind him he heard the man breathing hard and knew he was crying. But Samudra did not turn. He could not move. His will could no longer direct his limbs. He could only stand like a statue and hear Amandad’s words echo in his mind.

  Queen Prishi is dead.

  “How …?” He forced the word out. Mother is dead. “When …?”

  “My prince …” Amandad choked again, struggling to speak clearly. “She was found with her maid Damman. The first of all queens found her. She was poisoned, my prince. They … the … Princess Natharie has fled the small domain. She was the last to wait upon the queen. They are saying she did this thing.”

  Heat rushed back through Samudra and he could move again. He grasped Amandad by his shoulders and hauled him upright. “That is not true! How dare you speak such a vile lie to me!”

  “I swear, my prince, I know it is not true. All the world knows it is not true, but it is the word of the first of all queens.”

  The consequences of these truths and lies began to unfurl in Samudra’s mind. His mother, his mother was dead, Natharie was gone. Word of rebellion in Sindhu would be out within moments. The gardens were surely being searched even now, and it would soon be discovered that there was no hunt, and that Makul, Samudra’s teacher and ally, had left the gardens with a woman in maid’s clothing.

  Then they would be looking for him, and for Makul, and for Natharie.

  They already had Hamsa.

  He released Amandad and Amandad prostrated himself at once. Samudra looked down on him, trying to find room in his swollen heart to regret what had just happened. Amandad had done no wrong. If Samudra lived, he would make his apology.

  If I live. If any of us live.

  “Where have they taken Hamsa?”

  “Divakesh insists all be heard before the Pearl Throne.”

  Divakesh as well. Mother A-Kuha, is this my punishment for denying you?

  Samudra touched Amandad’s shoulder. “When they come to question you, speak the truth,” he said, which was all the protection he could offer the loyal man now. He darted back through the servants’ door. Half-blind in the dim light, he raced up the stairs, past the eighth ring, to the ninth.

  He had never entered the throne room from the servants’ stairs. He did not even know for certain there was a door here. He made himself call to mind the map of the corridors he had walked as prince. The broad stair lay so that the halls circled the Throne’s chamber and led to rooms for prayer, for waiting, for the emperor to robe himself. They ran this way, and this. This place where he stood was the dingy mirror for those bright and beautiful halls. Oriented now, he ran down the right-hand way, and found a door set in the wall, cut with the lotus, Mother Jalaja’s sign, for it was she who had created the Pearl Throne.

  He wanted to pray, but he did not know who would hear him. He felt the anger of the Mothers like a stone about his neck. The Mothers, who now held his own mother in their arms.

  No. Don’t think on that. Not yet.

  As slowly, as gently as he could, Samudra opened the door the barest crack, profoundly grateful for its well-tended hinges. A thread of light fell across his skin. He pressed his eye to that opening and looked through.

  He saw the Pearl Throne on its high dais of red-veined black marble. The pearls that gave it its name shone black, rose pink, and pure white in the glow of the few lamps the attendants had lit for this strange and hasty audience. Chandra sprawled, harshly undignified, on that sacred seat of emperors. Beside him stood the carved wooden screen. Bandhura was with him, then.

  Chandra and the images of the Mothers behind him looked down on the huddle of figures at the base of the dais. Hamsa knelt there and Yamuna stood beside her. A second woman knelt beside the sorceress. She was clad in rose silks and Samudra thought she must be Radana. Beside her stood Divakesh, his great arms folded, and beside the priest prostrated in full obeisance huddled a third woman.

  Who are you? He frowned at that third figure in her blue and silver silks.

  All at once, Hamsa stiffened. She turned her head, just a little. Samudra sucked in a breath. She felt him. Perhaps by the bond between them, perhaps by her sorceress’s instincts, but she knew that he was there.

  No one else seemed to notice Hamsa’s tiny gesture. All attention was on Chandra, who rose from the throne. Casually, as if he were doing no more than walking down a grassy slope, he descended the d
ais until he stood before the prostrated stranger beside Divakesh. Gently, he reached down and raised her up.

  “Tell me again,” said Chandra, smoothing her veil back. “Tell me what you say my brother did.”

  He lowered his arm, and Samudra’s heart stopped. The woman was Ekkadi, Natharie’s maid.

  “I was not able to hear every word.” Her voice shook badly, as well it might. Chandra stood so close, he could have kissed her with very little trouble, and struck her with even less. “But the prince spoke to her very urgently. He was most insistent in what he said. She was, I think, afraid a little, but …” Chandra touched Ekkadi’s cheek, running one finger down her temple, a gentle caress. She faltered, looking back and up at Divakesh.

  “Do not fear, Ekkadi,” said the priest. “Tell your emperor all that you know.”

  “Yes,” said Chandra, lightly, easily. “Tell me.”

  “We were summoned to Queen Prishi’s chamber. She wanted to hear one of Princess Natharie’s stories. She … she asked for a drink and Natharie prepared it and brought it to her. She, the queen, drank and, and …”

  “Go on, Ekkadi. The Mothers are with you,” boomed Divakesh.

  “I thought she had just gone to sleep, I swear, Majesty, I swear it!” Ekkadi cried desperately. “Then, Natharie made me change clothes with her. I didn’t know.” She fell to her knees, weeping and put her hands between the emperor’s feet. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

  But Chandra paid no more attention to her. He was looking at Divakesh. “Do you trust this girl, my lord?” he inquired.

  “She is a true daughter of the Mothers.”

  “I see.” Lightly, Chandra kicked Ekkadi’s hands aside and stepped over to Yamuna. “And what is this you have brought me, sorcerer?”