Chapter 60: Volume 3 - CH 1.3

For the Sindhuran army, strange incidents very subtly began to transpire.

At any rate, since they were in enemy territory, and it was nighttime besides, it was difficult to maintain order in the march. To ensure that there wasn’t any kind of disconnection among the formations and that there weren’t any stragglers, the officers kept a watchful eye on their troops. Though they were merely the units in charge of the supply train, encircling the oxcarts laden with wheat and meat was a wall of spearmen standing firmly on guard.

However, it was impossible to guard against anything overhead. Their heads ducked against the dry, cold wind as they marched on, the soldiers escorting the supply train realized that the sound of the wind had taken on an oddly piercing tone. But before they could realize the meaning of this, several dozen arrows had already come pouring down upon their heads.

Screams sounded. On the command of the officers, the soldiers readied their spears, preparing for the attack coming from around them.

But when arrows struck the oxen pulling the carts, chaos erupted and spread.

The oxen bellowed and began to go berserk. The soldiers sent flying by the oxen knocked over other soldiers, and were trampled to death by ox and cart where they fell.

As the troop formations had crowded together in order to traverse the narrow path, men and oxen and carts jostled against each other, colliding, knocking each other over, and all at once the officers, unable to fulfill their roles, lost all semblance of control.

“Enemy attack!” arose a shout.

If one had been paying attention, perhaps one would have realized it was the combined voices of a girl and a boy.

“Enemy attack! Not Parsians, it’s Prince Gadhavi’s troops, an assault from behind!”

The moment the voices spread through the Sindhuran army, the Sindhuran soldiers themselves, of their own accord, ended up following suit in magnifying the rumors. Amid the eddy of night and arrows and rumors, the disorder and panic of the Sindhuran army swiftly swelled.

.

“What exactly is going on. What’s all the fuss?”

Prince Rajendra furrowed his brows on top of his white horse. Given the fact that, with the fortress of Peshawar right before their eyes, mayhem from the back of the army had come to his attention, he could hardly not feel unease and displeasure. Heading toward him, a single officer with a disturbed expression came riding hard from behind to report.

“Your Highness Rajendra, it’s an emergency.”

“What do you mean by emergency?”

“They say that the prince, Gadhavi, has come leading a huge army to ambush our rear.”

“What!? Gadhavi did…?”

Rajendra gasped, but immediately recovered from his shock and yelled, “What ridiculous talk. How the hell could Gadhavi know I’m here? You must be mistaken somehow. Go verify it once more.”

“But Your Highness, perhaps it is possible that wretched Gadhavi and his faction have been monitoring all our movements until now in secret.”

This suggestion, in truth, was formed in reverse. As they had come to believe in Prince Gadhavi’s surprise attack as the “truth,” whatever theories seemed particularly likely ended up assembling in their minds in order to reinforce that belief. Having seen through the Sindhuran army’s lack of “human accord,” Narses splendidly used disinformation tactics to take them for a ride.

The commotion among Rajendra’s aides came to an end, and in one voice they began to counsel their young liege.

“Your Highness, if we are cut off from behind in a narrow pass like this, it will be to our disadvantage in battle. If the Parsian army were to come pushing from the front, we would be caught in a pincer. For now, let us retreat to the banks of the Kaveri.”

“Retreat, when we haven’t gained a thing?”

He clucked his tongue, but Rajendra could tell that his supporters’ agitation would probably only continue to grow from here on. There was no point in forcing an advance anymore, so why not withdraw as far as the Kaveri River. Having decided thus, Rajendra ordered a retreat.

Regardless, whether or not command was given, that same order would become no more than fertilizer spread over the seed of chaos. The commanding officer might make a judgment call, but how quickly could it be transmitted in full accuracy to the end? The decisive factor for this was the quality of the troops, but on this night, the Sindhuran army, already restless and unsettled, could probably no longer achieve unified action. Some troops wanted to retreat, other troops wanted to advance, and still others stayed in place to wait and see; from front to back they were swallowed in chaos.

“Something needs be told Prince Rajendra, His Highness, posthaste. Where be His Highness!?”

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When this line of questioning came forth from the darkness, it probably should have immediately aroused suspicion, but Rajendra, with an army of fifty thousand standing guard for him, was confident in his own security. If one were to put it like Narses would, there was a little problem of how to utilize big numbers after they had been amassed — that, so to speak, was what things had come to.

“Rajendra here. Has something happened?”

“There has been an emergency.”

“I’m sick of hearing the word emergency. What the hell is it?”

“Prince Rajendra of Sindhura has most unfortunately fallen into Parsian hands and been taken captive, ’tis said.”

“What?”

It was at that time when, in the darkness before him, something loudly resounded.

The same moment a thin sliver of fire was spotted stretching up into the night sky, thundering hoofbeats surged forth from the depths of the night. Keshvad’s troops had come bursting out of Fort Peshawar.

First, by the gates, Keshvad’s troops poured forth a rain of arrows aimed at the darkness before them; then, couching their lances, they charged. After fiercely tearing apart the mass that was the Sindhuran army, they avoided going in too deep and retreated. The Sindhuran vanguard was lured forward, pulled within range of the arrows; more arrows were loosed, and as they flinched they were once again crushed.

“Your Highness Rajendra, as yours truly intended, please become our captive.”

Along with the voice came a sweeping slash, which Rajendra just barely managed to parry. The sparks scattering before his eyes, for just one moment, illuminated his opponent’s countenance. A young and fearless face. No Sindhuran face was this.

Successive swings came striking from Narses, well fended off by Rajendra, but after around ten exchanges, he was all of a sudden at the disadvantage, driven into a corner.

It was then, from his opposite side: “Narses, how long are you planning to take your sweet time!?”

Another sword came swinging down.

Rajendra panicked. One on one he was already uncertain of victory, and now that it was one against two, there was no way he could face them. Rajendra had no intention of doing something like dying before he sat the throne of Sindhura.

Drawing back his sword and turning his horse around, Rajendra ran. And even then, he did not just run. Even at this final moment, he looked over his shoulder and flung out a parting shot, a rather impressive act.

“I’ll let you off for today. Next we meet, I shan’t leave you alive!”

“Enough with your nonsense!”

Dariun’s sword sliced through both the night wind as well as the peacock feather adorning Rajendra’s helm in a flash.

As Rajendra hurriedly shrank back his head, this time it was Narses’s sword that swung down upon him. He meant to raise his own sword to intercept the blow, but with a flick of Narses’s wrist, Rajendra’s sword was caught by his opponent’s and sent flying out into the night.

Rajendra fled.

A swift steed, that white horse, nor was Rajendra a poor rider. However, the golden saddle, excessively laden with jewels and ivory craftwork, weighed down the white horse as it began to tire. Becoming aware of this, Rajendra undid the leather straps and tossed the saddle away while he galloped on, then continued to escape riding bareback.

However, his insistence on riding a white horse, easily noticeable in the darkness, was a mistake from the start. A bowstring twanged, an arrow struck the white horse’s neck, and with a terrible neigh it staggered and toppled to the ground.

Rajendra was thrown from the white horse. His breath seized as his back took a heavy hit against the earth. When he finally tried to get up, without warning, someone stamped down on his armored chest. The tip of a sword, flashing white, pointed at his nose.

“Move and ya snuff it, Sindhuran pretty boy.”

This line in Parsian came hurled out in a young woman’s voice, and at the same time, Dariun and Narses also came spurring their horses over to the scene.

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