“Lord Suhliq, we’ve almost reached Gahkhpur,” said a guard to the side of the carriage where Suhliq sat. Avignon rode on his horse just behind the young lord, glancing at the city just past the forest corner. It was larger than compared to the cities back home, probably because their tended to be more people holed up.

Of course, the land here was leagues more fertile than back home.

Home…

Avignon closed his eyes. So distant, yet so close to his heart. Ever since he first landed in this peculiar place a few years back at the Diwan port, home had become a distant luxury. Like a narcotic, it was something he desired immensely.

He really never wanted to be here; however, certain circumstances and a possibility of a pardon made it enticing to explore this land and search for the riches yearned for back home. Of course, the beauty of having baths everyday also motivated him. Half the time he smelled like a dirty dog under the accursed sun, surrounded by people whose religion he couldn’t bare to stand for a moment longer. Then there were the monsoon rains which he wished he’d been better prepared for. But he couldn’t complain either, since he ended up finding refuge in a temple that served hot meals.

But what would happen if he returned home? He’d be considered a regressing Westerner; however, no one back home could understand the complexity of this land nor its mysteries and riches. Not even he could. When he landed, he thought this land was nothing more than a land of savages where men walked with bare chests. Yet the Easterners —who he thought were rather stuck up from Western accounts— were very interested by what this land had to offer. They traded black powder for crates of religious wares and gold for spices. When he asked a Pouitain-speaking Easterner what this land was, he replied with one word.

Heaven.

This place? Heaven? It had made no sense to him at first. This land of bare-chested men, of a social system where your birth determined your future, of brutal despots boiling prisoners on hot sand plates or smashing them to pieces by a subservient elephant, of people who ate with their bare hands, of swindlers and dacoits. This land? Heaven? In a way, he still couldn’t understand what that Easterner had meant. Perhaps he had understood this land and its mysteries, perhaps it was the mysteries that made this land feel like heaven. All Avignon could tell was that this part of the World —Ajaad, Azaad or the Pouitain-word Avia— contrasted home so much and yet it felt the same, or possibly worse.

“Open the gates!”

Avignon opened his eyes again. He couldn’t see the guards, but he could make out the arms raised, waving red flags along the walls. The gates to the city began to open up. Slowly, but suddenly they came to a halt.

Avignon approached the front, hearing the argument unfold.

“I say open up!” shouted one of the retinue up ahead.

“Apologies sir!” shouted a man above. “The gates are a bit stuck!”

The gates are stuck? It has happened before, yet Suhliq’s father had fixed them for good the last time.

Something felt incredibly odd about this entire situation.

He glanced up once more. At this angle he couldn’t make out much of anything at all.

“Oi! Foreigner! Where the hell are you going!” shouted Unda. “You pathetic pest!”

I don’t have time for you. Avignon broke from the formation and rode down the column of troops. Half of them seemed out of it, the other half were just bantering about nonsense. What kind of army was this?

I wish I hadn’t offered my services to this cunt.

He glanced back at the walls. Now he could see the guardsmen but he couldn’t make out what they were doing exactly.

“Ah right, I had that.”

Searching around him, Avignon grabbed an instrument the size of a cup. Taking off the protective caps at both ends, he placed the cup to his eye and, closing the other, used the instrument to see the distance before him much closer.

“Wait, why does everything look even smaller?”

He gave the instrument a good look. Perhaps he had broken it? No, if he had broken it then the instrument might have looked malformed or the glass broken.

“This device is as broken just as the blacksmith was mad.”

He turned the cup around and raised it to his eye. “Better.”

Looking through the other lens this time, he found everything much more magnified and precise.

“What the hell are those guards doing?”

They wore the same clothes as Suhliq’s men, yet they held bows in their hands, the arrows knocked.

Avignon narrowed his eye for a better, more clear view. A guard pulled an arrow back on the bowstring and positioned the arrow through a slit between the stones.

“Shit.”

Tugging at the harness, the horse broke into a quick sprint.

“Run!” He shouted in his broken Azaadi. “Get the hell out of here!”

The warrior only gave him confused stares, some even scowling.

Damnit! He dashed over to the carriage. “Lord Suhliq! Tell the men to leave! Before the gate fully opens!”

“And why should I?” asked Suhliq. “These men are loyal to me. There’s no other Afraari around here who’s willing to pay them coin, is there?”

“Those guardsmen have barrows pointed at your men!”

He gave a scoff.

“You’re telling me those Sudhists somehow managed to take over my city?”

“My Lord, those guards on the walls have arrows pointed at your men!” repeated Avignon. “Wold you rather die or go away with your hea—

“You jest,” interrupted Unda, striding over to Avignon with a sly grin. “Our lord has treated them fairly ever since they were imported from the deserts.”

“They were light-colored you priest!”

“Lohaani?” Unda glanced at the dark-skinned guards in front of them and turned back to Avignon with a twisted grin. “Are you fine, foreigner? The heat must have pained your eyes.”

Some of the guards chuckled from Unda’s response. Children they were. These Afraaris had to be playing a fools game.

Avignon grit his teeth.

“Give a lion good sheep, and he can conquer heaven. Give a sheep a few lions and you’ll be stuck in a well, which perfectly sums up your sorry sack of an excuse.”

“What?” Unda’s eyes enlargened. “You infi—

An arrow plunged through his neck, his blood splattering across Avignon’s face. Unda’s horse grew erratic, raising itself on it’s two hooves to throw the dead priest off and scurrying away as a sea of arrows descended on Suhliq’s men.

Hell broke loose.

“What?” shouted Suhliq, bewildered at the sight. “No!”

Avignon rode up to the driver. “Turn the carriage around!”

“Where?”

“I don’t know you bloody fool! Just do it!”

More screams rang in front of them. It seemed Lohaani horsemen had charged from the surrouding gates.

“Oh no…” said Suhliq, watching the sight in front of him. Avignon looked behind, watching as fear gripped the lord’s men. He could even see some flee into the forests.

Bastards!

The carriage turned hastily. With another lash the horses were forced into a rage, stampeding away from the bloodshed.

“More men! To the sides!” a man shouted. Avignon glanced around the walls, finding another three dozen horsemen charging from each side.

“Catch them all!” the enemy shouted from afar.

Sweat dripped down Avignon’s cheeks. Today wasn’t a good day. Not at all.

“You all!” he shouted towards the men at the back, using the same broken tongue. “Defend your lord so that he may escape!”

Avignon then tugged at the harness, sending the horse into a rage as it dashed forth, trying to catch up to the carriage.

“Foreigner!” shouted the waving Suhliq, ditching the carriage for a horse. “Over here!”

“I see you!” Suhliq turned his back, finding a dozen men tailing them with horses.

“They’re onto us!”

“Forget about them and protect me you fool!”

This bastard… Avignon tugged at the harness, hearing the horse shriek once more as it dashed to catch up to Suhliq.

“Lord Suhliq! We must go Eastwards or we’ll get blocked by the river!”

“Alright foreigner!” he shouted, changing course.

Avignon looked backwards again. The men were catching up without much effort.

They didn’t take the carriage as bait, dammit! Suhliq looked past them to get a last look at Gahkhpur. Our horses are tiring, whereas theirs are just about fresh. This’ll be troublesome if we don’t escape in time.

If anything, he didn’t want his life to end from supporting the wrong lord. If at all, he’d want a favor coming out of this. That much was for sure.

“What’s that in front of us?”

Avignon turned his head around and looked in front of him. It seemed there were about a dozen men wrapped in the colors of Suhliq’s banner.

We never sent men out here to do nothing! Avignon turned to his lord. “My lord, those are Sudhist men! They’re wearing our colors to deceive us!”

“What?”

Avignon took out his instrument.

Oh lord. A numb feeling crept all over his body as he lowered the instrument. All the men had bows, already knocked.

“Steer right My Lord! Steer right!”

“But then the bastards behind us will take us down!”

“It’s better than an arrow in the neck!”

Suhliq steered his horse rightwards and Avignon followed suite.

“Their letting loose their arrows!”

Both their horses staggered, slowing their pace considerably. One by one the arrows landed in front of them. They had missed the attack, but barely.

“Bloody hell!”

Avignon tugged at the harness.

“Go!” He turned to Suhliq, staggering behind. “My Lo—

An arrow landed in the horse’s body, causing it to shriek as it pounded it’s hooves to the ground, throwing Suhliq into the air.

“My Lord!”

Suhliq landed to the ground face-first.

“Bloody hell!” Avignon motioned the horse to a full stop. “My Lord, grab my hand!”

“Foreigner…” Suhliq staggered to his feet, clasping Avignon’s hand weakly. “Let’s… g—

“Yes My LoOOOO—

Avignon’s horse raised it’s two hooves and hammered the ground, jerking Avignon off the saddle.

“Fuck!”

“Foreigner!”

He landed on the dirt and slid just a little.

“Ah…” he breathed heavily, trying not to lose consciousness.

He tried moving around his arms, yet felt nothing. His body was numb and the only thing he could feel was the warmth coming from his head as blood dripped to the blades of grass underneath.

“Damnit.”

He looked up to glance the enemy closing in on them with their indigo uniforms.

Sudhists.

“Tie the both of them,” shouted a young man. “Also tend to those horses, we don’t want the Afraaris thinking something happened here.”

“Yes young master.”

Young master? He narrowed his eyes. It’s him…

The Sudhist men approached, bearing a long rope. Two of the men forced his face into the dirt while a third wrestled a rope around his wrists, the ruggedness digging into his skin. They then lifted him up, making sure he didn’t fall down from the trauma inflicted on his body, presenting him like a trophy to their young master.

Bhagat Gahkhar.

He wore tight blue trousers and a shirt that extended all the way to his knees. A leather sash wrapped along his shoulder to the leg opposite, containing his blade. His turban looked like an Afraari’s, visually disheveled with the loose end of the turban cloth dropping a little to the side.

“Well,” he began, his voice coldly enthusiastic. “I never expected a foreigner to show up in this part of Azaad, but you learn something new everyday I guess.”

What was this speech? With the few words he could understand, the manner of speech was worse than a peasants back home.

“How dare you!” Suhliq shouted. “How dare a mere Sudhist like y—

A slap rang the air.

“Have you ever tried giving yourself a good red mark across the face?” He said rather sarcastically. “I heard it was quite fashionable for you Afraaris.”

“How dare y—

Another slap.

“I can strike you a third time if you want?”

Suhliq lowered his head.

“Good.”

“May I ask a question?”

The young master turned his gaze towards him.

“Yeah sure, ask away.”

Huh? This man accepted so easily? And so causally too?

“Why were the guards wearing the same dark green as Lord Suhliq’s men? Don’t you have some shame?”

Bhagat’s man took a step towards him, cracking his knuckles. “Young master…”

It seemed his men were agitated by the comment, yet the young man raised a hand. “A certain Sun Tzu once said: ‘Every battle is won or lost before it is ever fought.’ I merely followed his words. I don’t care if I’m called a ‘tactical genius’ or a ‘sly fox,’ I play chaturanga to corner the king, nothing more.”

He motioned his men before turning away.

“And I’ve already captured a pawn and a rook.”

Immediately the World turned blank as a cotton bag covered Avignon’s vision.

“Take them away.”

He felt a chill rush up his spine. I’m a dead man. Avignon closed his eyes, taking comfort within the darkness in his mind. Only a miracle can save me now.