The forest was like a sleeping peacock. If the wind howled the leaves would only rustle on, the violence of their dance sounding like the rustling feathers of the creature. Vishar never really appreciated that connection until now. He simply lay on the forest floor, brushed up against the soil, twigs and branches as his life clung to the pressure applied to his wound. All he hoped for now was to be helped back up, away from the damp soil and bitter cold.

A faint sound quickly drew close, each pound of the soil creeping closer and closer.

That’s not a Lohaani lion.

Vishar turned his eyes.

First spit landed in his face, then a boot rubbed into his chest. Vishar groaned, using his weak hands to pry the foot off. The man lifted his boot, and realizing Vishar’s intentions, drove it right into his stomach.

Blood escaped through Vishar’s mouth.

“You bastard…” growled the man. The hint of light revealed Zander’s face, a scar etched across his cheek. “Tell your Gahkhar this: The next time I see him, I’ll have him chained and I’ll slowly kill him the Simbaqi way.”

A chill ran along Vishar’s spine.

The man lifted his foot and turned. He got back on his horse and, with the tug of the harness, rode off into the forest. He left, having pounded the dirt and snapping the twigs and branches before even their distant whispers fell silent.

“O Kasand…”

The pain seared on, as if he were bathing in hot sand. It felt unbearable. This pain wasn’t something he could survive without help, no matter how hard he fought on.

He lifted his hand off his hip. He’d been applying pressure to keep the blood from flowing out. But now the crimson red, almost black under the darkness, had died his hands beyond his own recognition.

“Will… I live?”

His words felt hollow.

Was it worth dying to see the anger in Zander’s eyes? Yes. In a way it was. Even though he played a small role luring out the Afraaris, it still felt refreshing to witness their anger up close.

But was it even worth it if a lowly Kashaari lived on? Lord Kasand had said that Taals had a duty to die. Was the life of a Taal so insignificant otherwise? Perhaps death would be best then, if he could avoid the tragedy of living on.

“No…” Vishar continued applying pressure. “I need to live on…”

The faint glimpse of moonlight forced his eyes awake. “I must live. I have to.”

Yet around him was the darkness of death, blinded by the moon.

“Vishar!” rang a desperate plead. “Vishar! Where are you!”

Vishar grunted, raising his bloodied hand. “I’m… over here…”

The fatigue weighed his arm down, landing on the soil that accepted it within it’s own arms.

Footsteps scurried towards him, the feet pounding soil as more shouts rang his way.

A lifeline?

Suddenly he could feel something warm wrap his hand.

“Vishar, your wounds!” The voice seemed worried.

Who’d worry for a Taal? Vishar his hand back to his wound. “It was only an arrow…”

“Yeah, and they gave you a nice re-modelling too.” Added another voice.

“Bhagat this isn’t the time for jokes!”

“Param, you worry too much.” Bhagat chuckled. “I know exactly how to fix him up.”

Suddenly a bright light seeped into Vishar’s eyes, radiating the vast darkness around them. The faint specks of fire landed to his chest, the heat searing into his skin. He recoiled, his muscles tensing. Exactly what was Bhagat doing?

“What’s… happening?” The pounding in his heart picked back up, beating like a mantra. “Young master Bhagat… plea—

“Hold him down, I can’t have him squirming.”

“Bhagat, you’ve gone mad!” yelled Param.

Bhagat ignored Param’s protests, examining the wound with his eyes. “Someone, get me some strong liquor! It’s probably on one of the dead Afraaris!”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, well, do you happen to have a better idea Param?” snapped Bhagat. “Because letting him die sounds like a terrible one.”

Param put a hand to his forehead, wiping down his exhausted face. “Are you sure he’ll be alright?”

“Of course.” Bhagat extended his legs out, overlooking the warriors dancing around the fire as a few of them cooked. “I happen to have first-hand experience as a medic.”

Param rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” He gave Bhagat a straight look and then turned his gaze to the resting Vishar who’d fainted from the operation. “Why didn’t you use the herbs that we had on hand? They heal just as fi—

“But they take forever. First you need to find the paste from someone and then apply it. But what happens if an infection spreads afterwards anyways? It’d be too late. Especially with how long it took to get to him.”

Bhagat drank from his water skin, using his arm to wipe away the drops of water on his beard. “I’m quite lucky I can manipulate fire, even if it is faint. I can use it to cauterize wounds as well as for combat.”

Param suppressed a frown. “If you say so.”

Bhagat paid no heed to his friends dismissal.

“I told you Param. I have this knowledge and I intend on using it. I want to use it to liberate Lohaan. To see a smile form on every child’s face, knowing that they won’t all have to suffer the loss of a mother or father for any longer. We know how that feels, which is why we should be striving down this path, to ensure that no one else bears the same burden.”

A rush of cold air blew around the trees and the flame flickered, the leaves shaking with anger.

“We all have different reasons to be fighting, but in the end they all converge on a very simple idea.”

Param let out a prolonged breath, the mist rising into the night sky. “And what idea is that?”

“That everyone is deserving of respect, dignity and humanity. That no one should be needing to bear this heavy a burden.”

The flames around the campfire blazed back to life, as if his words and the flames vigor were tied by some string of fate.

“They who are fearless shall never die.”

Param was taken a back. “Those are the same words old man Gahkhar would say every time we entered battle.”

“Yes they were.” Bhagat pulled out the pendant, letting the faint light reveal the words once more. “Have you ever understood what those words meant?”

“Well… what do you mean?”

Bhagat frowned. “Think about it for a moment.”

“Well,” Param gave it a thought. “Doesn’t it mean that a man without fear has conquered his fear of death? So even if you die, you won’t truly be dead? I always just thought of it as a rallying cry more than anything else.”

“No you’re right in a sense, but it means more than that.” Bhagat raised the pendant. “It means your name will never be forgotten. You’re immortal in the annals of history. If you die, you die as a martyr driving the next generation to fight on. That’s what those words mean. At least to me. They who are fearless shall never die. Yes, it’s very fitting.”

Bhagat stood back up, dusting off his pants and setting his sights on the food being cooked in the distance.

“Where do we march next?”

“Those Afraaris might’ve thought we had only ten thousand men in total and that they all died in battle. They’re dead wrong though. We have a couple thousand men awaiting orders in Lord Vhaddawalia’s territory, though they are a ragtag force... we’ll just have to merge our men and take them on a little adventure.”

“An adventure to where?”

“To Oodpur.”

“What?” Param’s eyes widened. “Why not Gahkhpur? Sides, we can’t take that city!”

“And why not?”

“It’s on a bloody hill! We’d lose!”

“Yes, and?”

Param stood up in an instant, his face furious. “It’s a death sentence!”

“And?”

Param gripped his fists. “What do you ‘And!’”

Bhagat shook his head.

“I may as well have a migraine.” Param closed an eye, massaging his eyebrow with a finger. “What makes you think it isn’t?”

“Who’s the idiot in possession of those lands?”

Param raised a brow. “Well… wasn’t it Lord Suhliq? You know, that bastard?”

“Not that one anymore. Remember, he died in the first battle.”

“Well then it’s still a Suhli…” Param’s words trailed off, his face turning to Bhagat with a shock. “You’re telling me his son is in charge now?”

“Yes, the fat one. Aabna’s spies reported that he tended to be more clueless and impulsive, disobeying his father’s orders in Oodpur and committing some… vile acts. Now that he’s in charge, he’ll probably think we’re after Gahkhar’s name-sake. That’d be my guess if I thought things through his way. Sides, his army is all the way south, it’d take a week for him to get to Oodpur.”

A quick wind blew past them, their shadows dancing with the nearby fire.

“So? What’s your plan going to be?”

“Well Param.” Bhagat smiled, turning his gaze towards the feasting men. For a moment Param could swear that this expression had become devilish. “We’re going to have to use his own stupidity against him.”

“Who goes there!” shouted a thick voice. Even if the sun was up they’d still ask the same damned question.

“It is I, Zander!” He swallowed down on his saliva, he couldn’t keep talking for any longer. He’d need a fresh cup of water.

The man gave him a prolonged look. “Understood!” In mere moments screaming pierced the empty air and the guards began raising the gates. Same procedure, different day.

Zander strolled in, his somewhat bloodied complexion drawing stares from the passing warriors.

“Zander!” said a hushed voice to his side. He turned, finding only a hooded figure clad in black. It seemed she knew what had happened judging by his face, which made him less saddened in a way. At least he didn’t need to embarrass himself with an explanation.

“Agna, I should’ve brought you along. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes, a leader must learn what to do without someone to advise them. It helps to learn.”

“Perhaps. But I didn’t expect an ambush in the middle of the forest, their tactics have changed abruptly.” He turned to face the large complex before him. “I need to meet uncle now. Are the other lords still here?”

“No, they’ve all left.” She paused for a moment. “But Lord Suhliq remains.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, isn’t this splendid.”

“Perhaps.” She faced the inner quarters just beyond the gate. “He’s discussing things with your uncle at the moment.”

A feeling welled in his chest, but he didn’t really know what to call it. Anger? Indifference? Perhaps an anticipation of laughter when he sees Suhliq’s face after he learns of his failure?

“I’m going to get going.”

“Shall I come?”

“No.” Zander turned, marching towards the inner quaters of the fort.

The Rajkot was the former Lothaari Rajdom’s secondary palace-fort, which previous Rajas used to greet dignitaries from Eastern Azaad. Made of red sandstone and marble, it was a structure that quite literally rose from the Earth. It had an exterior wall that Zander had just passed through. Within the grounds of the outer palace were individual units for soldiers to reside. Striding through the second vaulted gate, he entered the famed blue gardens, where indigo grew, it’s smell always putting him into a trance he’d never experienced anywhere else. He looked around the sea of flowers. It made for a nice place to sort out his stretched thoughts.

Beyond the archs directly ahead, which was used to overlook the vast garden, was the main structure of the fort, divided into three layers which each had it’s own purpose.

The Rajkot bore a striking resemblance to the Sonkot in Afraar in terms of layout, but the former was heavily based on Simbaqi architecture. The finely-chiselled domes along the corners of the fortress and interior walls, the slender archways between the courtyard and the inner palace and the large, vaulted gateways were hallmarks of Haraan architecture that were now even the envy of Lohaan’s former Sudhist rulers.

He strode through and entered the first layer, The Hall of Public Audience. It was a large hall supported by many columns, it’s main purpose being a forum for responding to commoner petitions, but those sorts of forums never happened nowadays. A red carpet with oriental designs lay in the middle, leading right to the dais where a golden seat rested with a red cushion on top. The domed base of the seat had lotus engravings continuous on all sides. The commoners also had luxuries of their own, being allowed to sit along the array of cushions that flanked both sides of the carpet. Zander never could understand why Sudhists gave such warm hospitality to peasants, but neither could he understand why his uncle cared to maintain it.

Zander passed into a passageway on his right, going up the stairs within the interior wall to the roof above the Public Hall. From here he could get a greater view of the blue garden if he looked left. Looking right; however, was another vaulted gate. These guards, who knew Zander from the numerous encounters, hurriedly opened the gates for him to enter through, finding a more luxurious hall from before. This hall, The Hall of Private Audience, had marble flooring rather than red sandstone slabs and instead of numerous cushions laying on the floor, they lay on marble seats flanking the red carpet.

Zander straightened his figure. “Greetings uncle.”

“My nephew!” Faran stepped down the stairs, readying his arms for a warm embrace. “How was the hunt?”

Zander didn’t say a word, simply looking at the new lord in charge of two of their border cities.

“Ah, my apologies!” Faran let go of his tight embrace, motioning towards the man. “This is Lord Iqba Suhliq, lord of Gahkhpur and Oodpur.”

The man was quite large. Not tall, but fat. Zander had heard the man was awfully spoiled, but spoiled to the point he was given so much to eat? That was absurd.

“Greetings Zander Shaahi,” said the chubby-looking man, green designs stretching to the lower section of an otherwise black dress. “I’ve been wishing to meet you for some time.”

Zander widened his eyes, but suppressed any other emotion. Since when was the last time he had been called by his full name?

Both of the men clasped their hands and lowered their heads.

“Greetings Lord Iqba, it is an honor to meet you,” replied Zander. “I am sorry about your father’s demise. He was a strong man, very charismatic. I hope The Almighty may take him into his embrace in Heaven.”

“Yes, it’s still quite painful knowing he’s gone.” Iqba sounded a little nonchalant, as if unfazed by his father’s death. Perhaps he was like him. “And yet we must do what our houses demand, even if they are gone.”

“He and I were just discussing the threat the Lohaanis pose to our border areas,” said Faran, his hand waving in the air. “Since we’ve got all the leaders in our cells, they shouldn’t be intruding with as much as even a finger.”

“It was very remarkable how Lord Faran Shaahi ended such a threat so easily,” remarked Suhliq, chiming into the conversation so freely. “If it were not for either of your visionary leadership, we would not have been able to so easily defeat them in battle.”

“You flatter us too greatly young lord,” Faran said, turning back to face Zander. “You should go get some rest, yes?”

Zander puckered his lips.

“Is there something wrong Zander?” asked Faran.

“Yes, there is. We didn’t catch all the leaders, the younger Gahkhar remains a threat.”

“I’m sorry My Lords but did my ears… deceive me?” Lord Suhliq’s face paled, his eyes slowly bulging out. He seemed to be growing more impatient. “This must be untrue, yes?”

Zander shook his head. “The Gahkhar defeated me with sly tricks.”

“That boy…” began Faran. “He defeated you? Even though he had less than half your men?”

Zander gave a silent nod.

“They don’t have any more men to launch another assault… all the crow scouts reported that. But they may be able to flee back into Lohaani territory.” Faran scratched his bald head closing his eyes to think things through. “We’ve already suffered many casualties and the Shah isn’t willing to send any more men. If this rebellion drags on while the Shah starts another war with Sundra…”

“It’ll give the Lohaanis a chance to strike and that boy could prove troublesome.”

There was a lull in the room. How could they pacify the bare threat that this Gahkhar posed?

“If I may,” began Suhliq, his chubby figure stepping forth with a sly smile across his oval head. “I have a solution that may benefit us all.”