As he drifted off to sleep, he heard a sound. He was instantly awake, listening. The tinkling of tiny silver bells caught his attention, followed by a giggle. The voice was young, high-pitched and so sweet that it tugged at even Susena's cynical old heart.
He sat up, startled. Standing at the entrance of his tent was a vision of such rare beauty that it took his breath away. She was no more than sixteen, her skin the colour of wild honey. Around her waist, she wore a silver feather on a chain to cover the area where her smooth, sleek legs met. Her long, raven hair was straight and shiny and thrown in front of her shoulders. It did a very bad job of concealing her well-formed breasts. Susena struggled to avert his gaze from them and look her in the eye. Even as she bowed, her green eyes never left him.
'I am sorry I startled you, my lord.'
Susena's voice was hoarse with desire, and he struggled to muster some authority into it.
'Who are you? How dare you come in here unannounced?'
She walked towards the bed, her hips swaying rhythmically with each step. The silver feather hanging from her belly shifted and Susena's breath caught in his throat. He could not trust his voice any longer.
The girl came up and sat beside him. Her eyes were like that of a tigress, appraising her victim.
'I'm a gift, your holiness. Honour me with your acceptance.'
Her manner was so coquettish the high priest could not contain himself any longer. His breathing became hoarse and he made a clumsy grab at her breasts. She laughed as she pushed his hands away.
'Patience, my lord. Allow me the pleasure of pleasuring you.'
She reached under his robe and slid her hand up his thigh, running her fingers lightly across his flesh. He felt a shudder run through his body as her fingers reached their final destination, and he fell back on the bed in complete surrender.
Susena had never experienced anything like this before. The women he usually had were whimpering slave girls who did everything he ordered out of fear for their lives. While he enjoyed the power and control he had over them, this was something else altogether. She pushed his flimsy night robe away, bent down and slowly licked the length of his shaft, not taking her eyes off his face.
Susena grabbed a pillow and bit into it to stop himself from crying out loud. It would not do for the men to hear the high priest scream like a rutting animal. She laughed as she slowly strode him like a horse. She took off her belly chain and laid the silver feather on his chest. He looked at her, nearly delirious with joy, as she lowered herself on to him. Susena felt her delicate flesh tear as he entered her; she let out a sharp cry, further adding to his pleasure. She began to move, slowly at first. Then her hips began to find a rhythm of their own. Susena moaned with pleasure.
She gradually increased the pace and he felt his belly tighten as he began to gasp. She grabbed him by his neck and drew him towards her. Susena marvelled at her strength; he opened his mouth to scream as he reached the pinnacle of his orgasm. She tightened her muscles and drew his seed into her. His mouth opened in ecstasy, and she pressed her mouth against his and breathed deeply into it. Her breath was as sweet as her appearance. Susena's body convulsed several times in pleasure and then was still.
***
As the night wore on, in his royal tent, the raja was unable to sleep. He stepped outside and the crisp night air immediately made him feel better. He asked Mara to saddle up his steed. The squire returned leading the horse and Daeyus rode out into the night alone. As he thought about the events of the evening, he was overcome by a sense of apprehension. The gods had refused to accept his sacrifice . . . this had never happened before.
The ground ahead broke into a gully formed by a dry stream. As he neared it, he saw a pack of wolves and vultures ravaging a carcass. He slowed the stallion to a walk, not wanting to disturb the feeding frenzy. As he approached, he recognised the massive carcass. It was the sacrificial bull.
***
It was early in the morning when Susena awoke. The events of the previous night felt almost like an eminently pleasurable dream. He felt something on his chest: it was a silver chain with a feather pendent. Susena smiled in satisfaction, the reason for the failure of the sacrifice had come to him in a dream; he was amazed at the clarity he now possessed. He called out to one of his attendants and asked him to seek an immediate audience with the raja.
Daeyus sat up in his throne as he prepared to receive the high priest. He had been unable to sleep a wink the whole night.
'What does that pompous ass want so early in the morning?' the weary raja thought to himself.
As Susena walked in, Daeyus noted that the priest was not his usual self. While he was decked in his usual finery, he was not wearing white, the symbol of his priesthood, but a robe of blue. He seemed nervous, trembling with excitement.
'Greetings, Susena. What brings you here this early in the day?'
Daeyus used his name and not the formal title of address for the high priest, letting the man know that he expected this intrusion of his privacy to be for an issue of paramount importance. He noticed that the high priest was nervously fidgeting with something around his neck. It was a finely worked silver feather.
Susena bowed low.
'I would never dare to commit this transgression if the situation did not demand it, my lord. I request that you lend me a patient ear as you might not like to hear some of the things I have to tell you.'
Daeyus nodded impatiently, asking him to continue. Susena now chose his words very carefully.
'My lord, sometimes in our ignorance as mortals we commit certain acts, the repercussions of which can have a terrible impact on humanity.'
He hesitated for a moment.
'For god's sake, stop beating around the bush and say what you have to say,' Daeyus cut in impatiently.
The words now blundered out of Susena's mouth. A high-pitched quiver replaced his normal deep baritone.
'My lord, the child you think is your son is actually a demon. He will be responsible for the destruction--'
Daeyus did not let him finish. He leapt off his chair, grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him off his feet.
'One more word and you die.'
He flung him across the tent. Susena hit the ground and once again started to protest. Daeyus drew his sword and advanced menacingly towards the high priest. The words froze in Susena's throat. He abandoned all dignity and scrambled on all fours for the door.
The arrival of Krupa saved the high priest from further harm.
The commander had an urgent message, he said. 'Lord Mitra of the Aditya clan has just arrived at the camp and requests an immediate audience.'
Susena took the opportunity to make good his escape. Daeyus sheathed his sword and hurriedly ordered arrangements to be made to receive his honoured guest.
Raja Mitra was a legend among the warriors of the northern tribes. Once a great chief of the Aditya clan, he was renowned as much for his wisdom and counsel as his skill in warfare. Daeyus remembered how he had led a mercenary army in the siege of the Sumerian city-state of Ur.
The night before the battle, Daeyus, then a young captain, had watched the raja ride alone to the top of a hillock that overlooked the city. Out of concern for the safety of his general, Daeyus had followed him at a safe distance.
On top of the hillock sat a man with matted hair piled high on top of his head and ash smeared all over his body. He had the appearance of a sage, but his body was built like that of a warrior in peak condition. Daeyus watched from a distance as Mitra bowed down to the man, who raised his right palm and placed it above the general's head. A bolt of blue energy emerged and entered Raja Mitra's head.
As the battering rams of the mercenary army broke down the mud brick walls of Ur, Mitra led the cavalry in a triumphant dance of death and destruction through the city. He slew scores of Sumerian warriors and made his way to the centre of the city to the magnificent temple of Baal, the patron deity of Ur. A god with an insatiable appetite for hum
an sacrifice.
In the temple, the high priests of Baal watched spellbound, their hearts filled with superstitious awe, as Mitra, divine energy coursing through his body, brought down the forty-foot statue of the god with one well-aimed kick to its chest. That was enough for the defenders of Ur; they laid down their weapons before Mitra in surrender.
Daeyus, who had been assigned to the rearguard, did not actively participate in the battle. He was with the troops still garrisoned outside the walls. A movement on the hillock caught his attention.
Silhouetted against the full moon was the man with the matted locks, dancing with a trident in one hand and a rattle drum in the other. The hill seemed to shake with every step of his wild, yet rhythmic dance. His laughter seemed to echo all around as the tongues of flames from the burning city rose high and licked the night sky. Daeyus did not speak to anyone about what he'd seen; he could scarcely believe his own eyes.
Later, at the victory celebrations, the chiefs of the various tribes gathered to divide the spoils of war. Raja Mitra shocked the gathering by announcing that he was abdicating his throne. He appointed his brother as the new raja of the Adityas. He then divided his share of the spoils among the kin of his men who had fallen in battle and rode off alone in the direction of the rising sun.
Daeyus was brought back to the present by the announcement of Lord Mitra's arrival. He smiled as the old man approached; Mitra still carried himself with the air of a military man.
'Once a soldier, always a soldier,' Daeyus thought to himself, noting that age had not slowed the old warrior down one bit. He went down on one knee and bowed his head in respect.
Mitra took him by the shoulders and raised him to his feet. His grip was still strong.
'Greetings, Raja Daeyus! Time is running out so I must come straight to the point. You and your clan are in grave danger. Even as we speak, Shalla marches against you at the head of a sizable, fast-moving force.'
Daeyus was stunned. From any other source he would have dismissed this as slander. It did not make sense to him. Why would Shalla make a move against him?
'There is no time to be lost, my king. You must break camp and get ready to march.'
The tone dispelled all doubt from Daeyus' mind; he went outside and barked urgent orders to his men. The hustle and bustle started around the camp as the raja's orders were passed on. He returned to Mitra.
'Should we take the south road, my lord? It will be easier on the wagons and the livestock.'
'No! They will be expecting that. They will ride us down in no time.'
Mitra drew a line on the ground towards the northeast.
'We will make for the Amu Darya River here and ford it. From there we can make our way through the Pass of the Wolves, and if fortune favours us, it will be a two-day journey from there into the Cloud Mountains where we will be safe.'
***
Shalla cursed out loud as he rode at the head of his cavalry. His generous posterior, now used to the silken cushions of his throne, ached from the days of hard riding. However, he had used the time in the saddle to evaluate the situation. Perhaps a political advantage could be extracted from this campaign. His spies, who were scattered across the land in the guise of merchants, had brought him news that more and more tribes were leaving their northern lands near the Caucasus Mountains and moving into Central Asia. These newcomers were not content living as pastoral nomads and soldiers of fortune. One of them had occupied the land called Mycenae and was now building city-states there to rival his own.
Shalla knew that it would not be long before Daeyus also began to harbour such ambitions. By wiping out the Devas, he could send a strong message to the arriving northern tribes, to avert their avaricious gaze from his beautiful city. He ignored the pain in his arse and screamed at his captains to increase the pace.
***
Sunrise found that the caravan had made steady progress through the night. The constant drizzle, though unpleasant, would sufficiently obliterate their tracks and buy them a little time. Daeyus rode ahead alone, using the time to collect his thoughts. He had always been a pragmatic man when it came to religion. As long as the will of the gods did not conflict with what he thought was best for his people, he obeyed it. If not, the priests were asked to reinterpret gods' will to go along with the raja's plans. Susena's interpretations of the omens had angered him then, but now he could not but help think, what if the high priest was right? Daeyus dismissed the thought even as it entered his mind. Indra was his son. His flesh and blood. For better or for worse, that was the way it would always be.
He tried to bring his thoughts to the immediate threat that was closing in on them. Shalla's duplicity was unexplainable but not altogether surprising. The Elamite king was known to shift allegiances and turn friends to foes to suit his needs. Daeyus did not share Mitra's optimism on the success of their present endeavour. It would be impossible to outrun the Elamite cavalry with wagons and herds of livestock. Shalla might be a pompous ass, but he commanded an extremely efficient fighting force, and they would be riding hard. The Devas could not allow themselves to be caught on open ground to be picked off by the enemy archers and then be ridden down by their vastly superior numbers. He rode back to the lead driver of the caravan and instructed him to pick up the pace. He looked around for Mitra, but the seer had gone ahead on a scouting mission.
***
Shalla arrived at the deserted Deva campsite in a rage. He looked at their sacred sacrificial pit, the only indication left of their presence in the area. He cursed the rain as he parted his tunic and urinated copiously into the pit. The outriders he had dispatched had returned one by one. The Devas had not made the obvious choice and taken the south road, which meant that they expected to be pursued.
Shalla suddenly had a feeling that this was not going to be as easy as he had expected. He turned to General Druma.
'You have ridden and fought with these barbarians before! What do you think they will do?'
Druma carefully weighed his options; to hazard a guess and be proved wrong would not be a good idea at this moment. Shalla was looking to vent his anger and frustration on somebody. Druma was too crafty an old fox to fall prey to that. He looked east, pensively. The arrival of the last outriders at that moment saved him. They had found the caravan tracks heading towards the river Amu Darya. Shalla screamed in triumph and ran for his horse.
Druma followed his king, still lost in thought. He had fought many a campaign alongside the Devas. He had also been present when the first intelligence reports of the Deva strength had arrived. Daeyus had three hundred soldiers, of which about two hundred and fifty were new recruits who had not seen any action. Druma had not shared in the general amusement that went around with this piece of information. These numbers could not be more misleading when it came to measuring the true strength of these men. The Elamites were about to corner an angry lion; the results might just not turn out according to plan.
***
Daeyus stood in the narrow cleft between two massive cliffs. This was the Pass of the Wolves. At its narrowest point, four men could ride through, shoulder to shoulder. In the distance ahead, Daeyus could see the thick clouds that gave the mountains hidden behind them their name. Slowly the wagons and livestock made their way through the narrow confines of the pass. Daeyus now assembled his fifty veterans. He asked them to pick up their battle gear and say goodbye to their families. The men obeyed without question. Daeyus kissed his son's forehead and gave him back to his wet nurse. He was afraid to prolong the physical contact lest it make him weak.
Mitra silently watched the exchange between father and son; he put his hand on Daeyus' shoulder reassuringly. The raja turned to him.
'He is in your care now, my lord, as are my Devas. I know they will thrive under your wisdom.'
Mitra's face did not betray his emotions. He clasped the king around his shoulders.
'Farewell, Daeyus. May the gods heap their glory upon you.'
Daeyus then called
Vasu and asked him to assist Mitra for the rest of the journey. He also appointed him regent and guardian of Indra's legacy till his son came of age to take his place at the head of the Devas. Vasu accepted the honour with little joy. He would rather have taken his place alongside his raja. Both men knew this would be a fight to the finish, and Vasu could not think of a better way to end his illustrious military career.
The fifty veterans watched the caravan snake away down the path. One of them, a brave but dim-witted fellow, Atar, remarked loudly, 'But they haven't left any horses for us. How in Surya's name are we going to join them after victory?'
His comment brought a smile to the raja's face.
'We will ride back on the horses of the Elamites after we have slaughtered them all.'
Cries of affirmation rose from fifty throats. Daeyus continued on a more serious note.
'Men, you have done for me more than any raja can ask of his soldiers. We have fought many battles. Savoured many sweet victories together. But today we do not fight for wealth, women, power or glory. Today, we fight for survival. Survival of our clan! Our future! And our way of life!'
The men banged their swords against their shields. Most of them had families in the departing caravan. They knew exactly what had to be done.
'I do not promise you a glorious victory. For all you know we will die here unheralded, unsung. No bards to record our valour, no survivors to recount our deeds. But these Elamites will remember us. They will remember this day for the rest of their lives. They who have lived under the shelter of our blade, will now feel its edge. Fight well today men, for tomorrow we will dine with the gods.'
He raised his sword high in the air and fifty voices screamed out in unison.
'YEEEE-AAAH!'
***
Captain Nehat heard the cry as he crossed the great river in haste, at the head of three hundred cavalry. They had ridden like the wind to get here ahead of the main force. His orders were to engage the enemy and slow down their escape. The battle cry could mean only one thing: that the Devas had decided to stop running and make a stand.
Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod Page 4