The young Rajput warriors complained. Bitterly.
They also did as they were told.
By the time Jaimal and Udai and Abbu returned, the sky east of Sati's army was filled with smoke.
"It's Kungas," Jaimal said. "He recommends you meet at a fishing village-what used to be a fishing village-five miles upstream from the Malwa army."
Udai grinned. "He promises not to shoot you, if you have your hair in a topknot. Otherwise he may not be able to control his men. He says most of them are only ten years old. Heedless and careless."
Belisarius returned the grin. "I'd look silly in a topknot. I'll take my chances."
Stylian was frowning, however. "Only five miles from the enemy? That seems. ."
Abbu was already shaking his head. "No need to worry. That Malwa army is not moving at all, any longer. Just sitting there, baking in the garam sun."
"Kungas says Sati had her elephants butchered, two days ago," added Jaimal. "The beasts were getting out of control-and, by now, they probably needed the meat, anyway. He thinks that army is getting pretty desperate."
The word "desperate" could have been applied to the soldiers of Link's army, well enough, but not to the cyborg itself. True, it had come to the conclusion that the position of its army was hopeless. But, in the odd way that its mind worked, that knowledge brought nothing more than what a human might have called "relief."
Not that either, really, since Link knew no emotions. Still, the other side of hopelessness was that decisions became very simple. If nothing else, rest from labor was at hand.
In a few hours, at least. Link still had to work through human instruments, and those flawed creatures always had their own needs. Which, at times, had to be respected.
So, with its inhuman patience, Link observed silently as the special priests and assassins in its chaundoli began their rituals.
It might even be said to do so with satisfaction. At least that part of the new gods' plan had worked properly. The cult fostered over a century earlier in the Khmer lands had served its purpose well. Link could rely on those priests and assassins to do what was needed.
If not, unfortunately, as quickly as it would have liked. But half a day's delay should not matter. Even if, as Link was assuming, Damodara had seized the big guns at Mathura, it would still take weeks before they could begin crumbling the walls of Kausambi.
Damodara's estimate was considerably more pessimistic.
"At least two months," he grumbled, watching the great cannons as they belched fire at the walls of Kausambi. Half of them missed entirely. The bores on those giant but crude siege guns were very sloppy. The huge stone balls that did strike the walls seemed to have no more effect than so many pebbles.
"If we're lucky," he added sourly.
But Rana Sanga barely heard him, and paid no attention to the guns at all. The Rajput king had entered that peculiar mental zone he usually entered before a great battle. A strange combination of serenity and fierce anticipation-the first, serving as a dam for the pent-up waters of the second.
When the time came-very soon, Sanga thought-the dam would break.
No, would shatter. Pouring out in that flood would be the greatest ride of his life, followed by his greatest battle.
"Months!" Damodara snarled.
"Yes, Lord," said Sanga, absently. He didn't even notice that he used the old appellation for Damodara, instead of the new "Your Majesty."
Neither did Damodara.
"I'm nervous," said Tarun. "What if I do it wrong? Are you sure-"
"Don't be silly," Rajiv assured the young stable-boy. He held up the fuse, pinched between thumb and forefinger. "What's to go wrong? You've got a pocket full of matches. Just light this and take shelter."
Dubiously, Tarun brought out one of the matches in his pocket and studied it.
"What if-?"
Trying not to let his exasperation show, Rajiv plucked the match from Tarun's hand and struck it against one of the stones in the stable floor. The match flared up very nicely, with its usual acrid fumes.
"Specially made," he said forcefully. "By the best apothecary in Kausambi."
Honesty forced him to add: "Well. . The best in this quarter, anyway. He's probably just as good as any in the imperial palace, though."
That was true enough, but it brought up another thing for Tarun to fret over.
"What if he betrays us? Matches are unusual things. What if he starts wondering-"
Squatting a few feet away, Valentinian laughed softly. "Weren't you just telling us yesterday that nobody is paying attention to the soldiers any more? Even the soldiers themselves?"
"They've even slacked off the digging," Anastasius added. "Good thing, too, as close as they were getting."
Never comfortable for very long in a squat, the huge cataphract rose to his feet. It was an ungainly movement, not because Anastasius was uncoordinated-which he certainly wasn't, for a man his size-but simply because the size itself created certain physical realities. A rhinoceros is ungainly also, rising to its feet. Not ungainly, however, in the charge that follows.
"Relax, boy. By now, Skandagupta has over a thousand corpses or heads decorating the walls of his palace. He's become a maniac, and everyone in the city knows it. Nobody in his right mind wants to get anywhere near him-or his police. That apothecary will do what everyone else is trying their best to do, these days. Mind his own business and hope he survives whatever's coming."
It was true enough, and Tarun knew it as well as anyone else in the stable. The soldiers and laborers engaged in digging up the area looking for the hideaways had been slacking off, for at least a week. "Slacking off," at least, in the sense of not getting much done that was of any use. To be sure, they managed to look as if they were working frenziedly. But most of it was make-work; literally, moving soil and rubble back and forth from one hole or pile to another.
You could hardly blame them. Every time they'd uncovered something, whoever was in charge wound up getting beheaded or impaled. Over time, of course, reports of no progress at all would be met with equal punishment. But that took more time than success.
By this point, in besieged Kausambi, most people were simply buying time.
Not everyone.
Lady Damodara appeared in the stall. "Ajatasutra's back. He wants to know-"
"How soon?" asked the assassin himself, coming right behind her. "Inquiring emperors want to know."
Valentinian grinned, mirthlessly. "Now that you're here, how's tomorrow morning sound?"
Tarun gulped.
"You'll do fine," Rajiv assured him. "But you'd better leave now. It's a big city and you've got a ways to go. And you need to be in place before sunrise."
"It's dark outside," Tarun protested.
"Of course it is," said Valentinian. "That's the plan. Now, go."
Tarun made no further protest. Whatever else he might be worried about was merely a possibility, involving someone else or something else at some other place and time.
Valentinian was here and now. Tarun went.
Belisarius wasn't really worried about any Malwa patrols sent out by Link. Where Belisarius had twenty thousand cavalrymen and Kungas had fifteen thousand dragoons, the monster had had only had three thousand cavalry to begin with. Far fewer than that, now, between the casualties they'd suffered in various clashes and-the crudest factor of all-the fact that they were now beginning to butcher their horses for the meat.
Still, he saw no reason to take chances. So, he made the rendezvous with Kungas well before daybreak.
The Kushan king was waiting for him, in one of the few huts in the small village that had escaped the Rajputs' arson. He was squatting on the dirt floor, with a bottle of rice wine and two cups.