Footsteps scurried along the stone corridors just underneath the earth and shouts echoed down the halls, the men carrying long spears and bows for the warriors on the walls above. Where had Bhagat seen such direness? He stared at the fleeting scene for another moment, taking in the hurrying scene with his own eyes. It was reassuring, thought Bhagat, that so many men were willing to preserve this city.

Though it had more to do with money than it did with honor or love. At least that was what Bhagat would like to think. After all, most men weren’t such selfless creatures.

“Lord Gahkhar!”

He turned. A nurse, clad in a blue dress, gave him a worried look.

“What’s wrong?”

“My Lord…, ” she began, her voice frantic. “One of the men is trying to go outside… to fight.”

“What?”

Bhagat turned, marching down and into the makeshift medical bay he had ordered Aaklav setup. All around the room were pastes and white cloths on tables and charpoy beds littered around with little maneuverability. It housed two injured men at the moment and, it seemed, one of them didn’t want to stay in the room any longer.

“Vishar, what the hell are you doing!” Bhagat crossed his brows. “Get back to sleep!”

“How can I do that?” replied Vishar, donning his light armor. “When my fellow brothers are fighting abo—

“You were shot twice in your arm, you damn fool!” boomed Bhagat. “You’re lucky it didn’t sever your nerves! And don’t tell me that, you’re bloody injured!” He dismissed him with a frantic wave. “You’ll only get in the way!”

“Bu—

You moron! Bhagat glared.

Vishar shut his mouth. his face morphed into varying expressions —regret, indifference and anger— but settled on a slugged posture as he began taking off his armor. “Under… stood.”

“That’s right Vishar,” added another voice. The man beside him was a planky figure with short black hair. “You’re not the only Taal, there are others in Lord Gahkhar’s warband that can fight, so just stay put and relax.”

Vishar rested his equipment on the floor and lay back on the charpoy bed, his eyes gazing the stone ceiling. “You’re right Jaav.”

“It’s the Afraaris after all, I bet you they can’t even bring down the city walls!”

Vishar gave a smile.

“Another thing Vishar,” Bhagat said, his eyes still crossed. “Always report your injuries. Always. I don’t care if you got tickled by a tiger or licked by a horse, I want to know if my men are hurt so that I can give them the best possible treatment there is to offer. Do you understand me? I want my men alive to fight again Vishar, not half-dead. If my men are willing to lay down their lives for my cause, even losing their legs or arms, then I should be prepared to deal with the consequences and ensure they are able to continue living the same way as they had before. Next time, you must relay whether you’ve been injured or not. Never —and I mean never— hide those injuries from me, or else I’ll never accept sending you off like I had a week ago.”

Bhagat turned, watching as a small column of indigo-clad warriors marched, their talwaars held in front of them and their indigo turbans sprinkled with red dye. “And don’t worry. We’ll kill them all.”

WALKING BACK UP TO THE MAIN GROUNDS OF THE CASTLE, BHAGAT TOOK COVER AS HE EXAMINED THE RAINWATER LASHING THE GROUND IN AN ALMOST SYNCHRONOUS FASHION.

I can’t even see past a good few meters and the rain only started yesterday. Bhagat frowned. If anyone had the advantage, it’d probably be the Afraaris.

“My Lord!” shouted a warrior, rushing towards him. He waved a letter at in the air, catching Bhagat’s attention.

“Yes?” He accepted the letter in his hand and glanced towards the seal. “Aabna?”

He cracked the seal open.

We’ve interrogated a few upper-castes concerning the letter someone from their quarters relayed towards the Rakshaan mountains less than a week ago. The men we captured turned out to be innocent and it seems our tactics have affected our relations with their community. In the best interests of stability, I’ve had to let them go free.

Bhagat let out a sigh, stuffing the letter into his pocket. Recently Aabna and Param hadn’t been co-operating the way he’d imagined and it was creating problems. Surely Aabna’s spies weren’t so careless and certainly Param wasn’t the kind of man to get a job half-done.

The layers of rainwater kept whipping the ground, as if not even willing to give the Earth a single shred of mercy. Bhagat glanced northwards, finding nothing but a layer of dark grey clouds blocking his view.

What exactly happened in Oodpur?

I’ll have to write back to them as soon as possible, this might end up creating larger problems—

A warhorn blew from the south.

Shit!

He ran across the main grounds, his lamellar armor clanging into the air. How big was the Afraari army? What weapons did they bring? It was all just a matter of time now.

He mounted a spare horse from the stable and rode off, whipping the harness to keep the horse on its toes. He passed the castle gates and rode down the path, passing by the Red Square. Everyone around him —children, mothers and grandparents— retreated back into their commoner apartments, in a way ensuring they weren’t caught up in the ensnaring battlefield that had plagued the same streets a good two decades earlier.

Again the warhorn blew, the booming echo resonating with the lashings of the rain. Turning the last few corners he could see the south gate standing in it’s glory as his warriors hurried to place the last few barriers in place. He motioned the horse to stop and signaled a warrior to take it somewhere safe.

“My Lord!” shouted a warrior. Bhagat turned, watching as a figure ran towards him in the low visibility.

“Speak warrior.”

The man huffed, his breath creating mist. “Our men used the scope you had given. It seems there are upwards to above 5000 Afraaris!”

Fuck. Bhagat nodded. “Escort me to the top, they’ll want to banter before they begin their assault.”

“Yes My Lord!” shouted the warrior. Together they ran up the stairway and, facing the crowd of men just outside, Bhagat shuddered.

Underneath the massive Afraari banner —A gold fringe around the triangular flag— were legions of Afraari warriors, their brown-colored figures squirming and shouting obscenities.

“I demand that the rebel, Bhagat Gahkhar, present himself to me at once!”

Bhagat turned to his warrior. “Can you get me that metal pipe, ya know, the one that looks like a cone.”

“Yes My Lord!”

The warrior hurried along, his figure disappearing into the mist. Bhagat glanced back at the enemy. The problem with Afraari troops were that they tended to be ferocious; however, they lacked any meaningful way to breach the walls of a city without wasting so many men. They were like glass cannons. Attack them where it hurt and they’ll turn their tails, their organization and morale shattering in an instant.

Just like that fight with Zander.

“Perhaps that rebel can’t make it to the walls to speak before I, Lord Faran Shaahi!” The men below laughed, taunting their curses towards him.

So this is how the Afraaris operate? By shrieking savage noises at my ears to provoke me into a fight? He glanced towards a nearby warrior watching the Afraaris. He lowered his gaze to the man’s hands and noticed them shaking. It seems they’re trying to lower my men’s morale.

Not good.

“My Lord!” shouted the warrior, returning with the iron cone.

Bhagat thanked the man and brought the the cone to his mouth, licking his lips for a grand spectacle.

“Faran, you bloody fool! How can you bring before I, the Lord of Gahkhpur, such a undisciplined crowd of pissers and beggars!” His voice boomed across, drowning the mass of nonsense rambling below. “These same men shout the same obscenities that they themselves had done! Someone down there called me a sister-fucker. Okay? Do your rabbid dogs not know where that word even comes from? It comes from the sisters your ancestors had stolen from their homes past the mountains back west! Where you claim to have ancestry!”

The men around him laughed, yet the Afraaris kept throwing their curses out.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have ancestors from that land, or else I’d be just like your mutts. Now order your men to stop shouting, they’ve embarrassed themselves before my city!”

Faran didn’t answer. Instead, Bhagat could see figures running around and silencing the enemy’s men, bringing their voices to a lull that the rain could easily displace with it’s lashes.

“Rebel Bhagat Gahkhar!” shouted Faran, perhaps attempting to put Bhagat’s insults aside. “Cede us this soil and we’ll let you and your men safe passage west! If you refuse, we will attack this city and I do not vouch for any of the peasant lives scattered in it!”

What a fucking liar. Bhagat cleared his throat. “I refuse! I do not and I will not trust the word of a dacoit from the Afraari deserts. A man whose family killed their liege and usurped power at the Sonkot. A man whose family went against their oath to the Jayenendran Emperor! The Jayenendrans should’ve put you down like the dogs you were, but alas, it seems I’ll have to take on the burden they refused to shoulder!”

The men around him cheered, shouting their prayers and reciting their hymns as if joining Bhagat’s resolve. But it wasn’t enough. Bhagat needed something more.

“Friend, tell the men to fire their weapons as soon as I say the motto!”

The warrior nodded.

Bhagat turned back to the crowd of Afraari warriors.

“If you’ve refused my generosity then that leaves me with no choice,” screamed Faran at the top of his lungs. “You shall be like the Jayenendrans of the past and slave to their same fate.”

Checkmate.

Bhagat cleared his thoat once again and brought the cone close to his mouth.

“You barbarian, you mistake one thing!” he screamed, his voice booming across the city. “We are not slaves! Slaves we have never been! We are Lohaani! We are slaves to this soil! The same soil that every one of us —Kashaari and Sudhist and Haraan and Ashthatamaani— have cultivated and nourished for centuries, toiled and sacrificed for millenia! And today is no different! Today we shall fight to the death and let the monsoon dictate who here is the winner! I swear this on my own honor as the last of the great Gahkhars!”

He unsheathed his blade —hearing as the metal rang and watching as the water slid down and around the curve— and raised it up high.

“They who are fearless shall never die!” shouted Bhagat, glancing as someone swung the Gahkhar banner for the Afraaris to see.

“They who are fearless shall never die!” replied his men, echoing the chant for the whole city to hear.

In a split second a great explosion rocked the battlefield as a black ball hurled it’s way across and crushed the Afraari flag pole in half. Shrieks and cries rang, Bhagat watching as spilled guts and loose arms painted the swamped field red.

Bhagat gulped.

The Battle of Gahkhpur had begun and he had drawn first blood.