Chapter Six

  The King’s Hunt

  The big male elephant trumpeted and stamped its feet, its call echoing through the forests of Ayodh. Soon, its call was followed by more of the enormous beasts, and together, a line of the massive pachyderms surged forward, driven on by their mahouts, the men riding on their backs. The squadron of elephant riders, provided by the Raja of Ayodh, moved forward in a haphazard line through the undergrowth, acting as beaters. Even though war with Rhakan was imminent, the hunt was on. King Victus had demanded it.

  Captain Khathan’s stallion, Chetak, shifted uneasily under him. The captain was with a contingent of native royals and noblemen. Nearby, Prince Azadra Kushmer Kandura Bara of Kathalamanyr sat on his stallion, wearing full military regalia and his red cape from the night before. The Dravani nobleman, Raja Pentayy Venadatibheni of Nakranara, sat frowning on his white mare, watching intently as the line of elephants moved off, crashing through the bushes. The elephants would be moving towards where the king and his retinue of Vastrum hunters would be waiting, hoping to take any beasts that came bursting from the trees. The group of native noblemen would be there to take any animals that slipped through to escape back into the woods or around the edge of the line of mahout beaters. The Vastrum men would get the best, the rulers and nobles of the colonies, the rajas, ajus, and gursai, the leavings. Not even the Samur Aksha, Raja of Ayodh, was with the king. He sat further off from Khathan with a retinue of his nobles.

  Prince Azadra leaned to speak to Khathan, “A good hunt to you, Aju.” He spoke Vastrum, the only language they shared. All the native elite spoke Vastrum well. They each had their own native language, so Vastrum had become the common tongue of the colonies.

  “And to you, Raja,” Khathan replied.

  “Why should we get the leavings?” Raja Pentayy asked, “We have done all the work, have we not? Even Raja Aksha does not have a place of honour, and this is his kingdom.” He gestured to where the Raja’s retinue was seated on their horses.

  “When he is king of a thousand lands, he may sit where he likes and choose who sits where,” Azadra replied, laughing.

  Pentayy scowled, his dark eyes narrowing at the northern prince. “They are the men sitting at the table, and we are the dogs fighting for scraps," The southern nobleman insisted.

  Azadra’s horse danced left, startled by a bird that flew from the bushes, “There is always a seat of honour, the head of the table. It is not dogs who sit furthest from the king. We are still seated at his table.”

  “If not dogs, then we are seated with the children and servants!” Pentayy of Dravan shot back.

  “You chatter like monkies! You will frighten our quarry!” Raja Samur kicked his horse and rode to them, several of his retinue in tow.

  “Does it not bother you, Raja, that you are here at the back, given a meagre place in the hunt, in your own land?”

  Samur frowned and pulled his white horse alongside Pentayy’s mount, his voice hushed, but Khathan was still close enough to hear, “Of course, it bothers me. What good would it do to complain?” Then the Raja glanced at Khathan, looking over his officer’s uniform, “So few of us find favour with these Vastrums.”

  Khathan heard a noise he did not recognise, a kind of roar. It had not come from the elephants, nor was it a tiger. Dar Khathan knew the roar of a tiger well. “Quiet," he said.

  The Raja rounded on him, “I will not be spoken to with disrespect by a Guluk, no matter how much favour he has curried…” Guluk was what many Ayodhis called those from Gulud. It was an insult.

  “Shh.” Khathan ignored the offence, “Do you hear…”

  The roar came again, still far off and in the direction of the king’s hunt. This time, they all heard it. Heads turned towards the sound.

  “Yali.” Raja Samur of Ayodh said, his voice hushed.

  Khathan spurred Chetak, and his horse darted like an arrow through the forest after the elephants. He had never seen a yali before. He had only heard of them and seen their likenesses carved as temple statues. His great-grandfather had been part of a hunt that had taken one, or so the story went. They were giant beasts, divine protectors of holy places. In Gulud, it was only permissible to hunt one that had become destructive, which was rare. Khathan wondered if they were near a sacred place or mandir; he did not know Ayodh well enough to say. Yali could be very dangerous when angered, especially so when they were defending their mandir. They were so ferocious he wondered if even guns could harm it. Everyone in its path would be at risk. Not only the king but Dryden, Havor, all the servants, and many others.

  He could hear the other noblemen riding behind him, getting further behind by the second. Chetak was a swift horse. He hit his stallion harder with the crop and hunched down to avoid branches as he rode pell-mell through the forest. He rode without holding the reins, his crop in one hand, his great lance in the other. Most men were hunting with muskets today, but he had chosen a lance because he preferred it for taking tigers. A musket took too long to reload if you missed.

  Then he broke from the tree line just behind the beaters and their elephants and was greeted with chaos. A huge yali, two times larger than an elephant, was crashing through the king's hunting camp. It had an immense wolf-like head on the body of a colossal lion. It was adorned and painted with the holy script of Ayodh. Lotus petals from somewhere blew through the chaos. Men and horses scattered like ants before the divine beast.

  “Do not kill it!” Raja Samur shouted from behind, “It is holy!”

  Khathan wondered how anyone could kill such a creature. The beast writhed as it went, flinging itself into and through the men surrounding it. Few men and mahouts on elephants dared to go near. One man was riding through the chaos around it on horseback, dwarfed by the massive beast. Khathan did not know the man, but he had the look of a hunter. He pulled up, turned, aimed his musket, and fired. The beast roared in pain. That question was answered, at least. Khathan spurred his horse, looking for Dryden and his friends, but many people were fleeing, and the whole camp, with all the king's courtiers, servants, and friends, was thrown into absolute panic. People rode away from the monster or ran as they were able. The hunter spurred his horse, reloading as he rode. Khathan kicked Chetak to close with the hunter, to warn him not to kill the beast.

  The man wore the light safari outfit that most of the King’s men wore but was dishevelled, with long, scraggly hair and a beard. Otherwise, he looked the same as the rest of the Vastrum men.

  Khathan was almost to him, “You must not!” He shouted over the din.

  “You mad?” He shouted back, “That bell-bastard’s the prize of a lifetime, boyo! I’ll kill it and pin its bloody head to the wall!” He turned again, took careful aim, and fired once more. The beast screamed again, an almost human scream, and turned its great wolf-like eyes towards the hunter.

  “It is holy to the Ayodhis. You must not kill it!” He shouted again.

  “Bloody hell!” The hunter shouted as the creature writhed and lunged towards them.

  Their horses leapt backwards with a start to avoid the great beast that cut between them. Then it was past them. Its attention seemed to jump to whatever was directly before it. It swept down, and its great jaws took a man and horse and bit them in two. Blood spurted across the grass. Someone else fired from the wreckage of the destroyed camp. The beast turned again.

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  A man was running slowly across the field lamely. He was not particularly fit, and his leg was injured. Khathan recognised the man from the King’s banquet but could not recall his name. The creature pounced upon him and tore at him like a screaming, blood-spattered ragdoll.

  “I don’t care how bloody holy this cunt is, he’s a bloody menace! I’m putting him down!” The man shouted, and then he began loading his musket again.

  Khathan took stock of the chaos around him. Just in the vicinity, he could see a dozen or more dead, half-eaten, would-be hunters, servants, and several more horses. There was even a mangled elephant. The carnage that the yali had left behind was ghastly, and he wondered if the story about his great-grandfather killing one had been true. How could the story have been true in the face of all this? The yali had moved off and chased down a horseman who had gotten too close. It was truly fixed on only what was immediately in front of it. The Guludan rode towards the remains of the camp, hoping that the beast would not turn its ferocious attention on him next. Beside a set of camp chairs, he saw a man huddled on the ground, covering his head with his hands. The man wore a safari outfit. His pith helmet was cast aside. The man had pissed himself.

  The man looked up at him, “Is it gone?” He asked, his voice shaking.

  Khathan realised with a start that this pathetic mewling man before him was Vastrum’s king. He seemed unhurt, though several men around him had been torn to pieces. The captain dismounted from his horse. “It is near. We must ride to safety, Majesty.” He extended a hand to King Victus.

  The man took his hand without hesitation and stood, looking about fearfully. Suddenly, the roar sounded again, closer, and Chetak bolted. It was too sudden, and there was nothing that Khathan could do. The horse was gone. Khathan turned and saw the huge wolf-lion form of the yali rapidly writhing its way towards them.

  “Oh, gods below.” The King said softly as it came.

  Khathan gripped his lance with both hands. He jammed the butt of the spear into the ground and covered it with his back foot like a man would when facing a cavalry charge. He had never faced something larger than a horse in this way, never mind a foe twice the size of an elephant. He knew the spear was unlikely to hold against the bulk of the yali. It did not matter. A Guludan warrior stood his ground, even unto death. It was the way of his people. He stared at the beast as it came. Time seemed to slow. He felt the king cowering behind him. He let out a yell, a primal battle cry, as the wolfish jaw yawned wide and the beast pounced towards him. Yellowed razor-sharp canines seemed to reach out for him as they came. He pointed his lance towards the mouth of the creature. The spear went in. The mouth clamped down on him. Teeth punctured his shoulder, and hot blood poured out over him. Some his, most the beast’s. He felt the beast would crush him or swallow him whole. Then the yali's head lifted off him as it recoiled in pain. The creature roared and howled, and the lance, which was lodged in the mouth of the beast, ripped from his hands. He fell to the ground, covered in blood.

  The beast thrashed and writhed and pawed at its own mouth on the ground. The spear snapped, leaving the tip lodged. The creature came up again, howling. It turned towards Khathan again, its eyes full of red fury. The captain had no lance now. He had nothing, not a sword or pistol, on his person. His other weapons had been on the saddle of his horse, which had fled. The king whimpered. The head of the beast came down towards them again. The creature, which was twice as tall as an elephant, roared in fury as it came to finish him. Khathan stared up at it in a strange awe. He could not act. He could only watch, frozen, as death came for him. He knew he was going to die. Then, a volley of fire came from near the trees where a line of soldiers had formed up. The beast halted and turned towards them. It moved impossibly fast, bounding over the field. It was among the soldiers in a heartbeat, tearing them to pieces, scattering them like wickets. Men died or were maimed. Then, just as the creature turned back towards Khathan and the king, a shot sounded from his left, and the beast dropped like a stone.

  “Gods below…” The king muttered again, “All the gods and demons, what is that? Was it a griffon?”

  Khathan felt his knees wobble, and his shoulder began to throb horribly. “No. It's a kind of yali, a celestial being. You might call it an angel or a devil. They are sacred to us. It should not do this.”

  “Oh…” The king trailed off, shock taking hold of him.

  Once the creature was dead, there was a silent moment. No insects buzzed, no birds called. Those who were still near and alive stood looking on in horror at the carnage. A breeze blew, cooling the sweat and ichor running down Khathan’s forehead. He blinked, attempted to rub something sticky from his eyes, and only succeeded in smearing it around. He took a deep breath and looked for anyone he recognised. The moment of silence spread out.

  A lone voice broke the silence, “Did you fucking see that, you mad dark bastard! One in a bloody million, that shot! And you! With the spear, bloody marvellous!” The hunter was striding up to him, grinning ear to ear, his musket cradled tightly. Then he saw the king, still cowering beside the captain. “Beg yer pardon, Majesty.” He offered, “But weren’t that a bloody brilliant shot?”

  “It was finely done, Mr Baine.” The king answered, his voice quavering, “Finely done, indeed.” He swooned, and Khathan steadied him.

  A man got to his feet and began to stagger towards the king from among the men who had fired upon the beast. Khathan could see that it was General Haddock. He was injured and using a broken branch as a walking stick. “Majesty!” The general shouted urgently in their direction. Khathan helped the king to his feet shakily. The king raised his hand, “General!” The king took the captain’s arm and held on lest he collapse again.

  “Are you well?” Haddock shouted.

  “Well enough!” King Victus shouted hoarsely back.

  Men were running now towards the king. Surviving guards and his courtiers seemed to appear from all corners. Men who had hidden in the brush and prayed to dead gods appeared now that the danger was done. A contingent of cavalry officers came riding out of the trees far down the right flank. Khathan saw with relief that the rest of the officers of the 13th had been well away from the danger. They were unharmed. On the other hand, the king’s courtiers and the servants attending them were decimated. The king’s secretary, Charles, walked over, holding a broken arm. Haddock arrived, still using the branch as a walking stick. Someone brought a camp chair that had survived and presented it to the king, and with Khathan’s help, he sat, chest heaving with laboured breaths.

  “I am at a loss, gentlemen.” The king said as the survivors circled around him, looking for guidance.

  “With your leave, Majesty,” Haddock interjected.

  “Yes, yes, George, by all means, take charge.”

  Haddock turned and began bellowing orders, commanding men to organise, find survivors, take stock of supplies, and prepare the king and retinue for the safe return to the governor’s residence at Kanmak.

  “Where is Edward? What of Lord Blakely? Where is Adolphus?” The king asked, referring to his brother, governor-general, and court wizard, “Where have they gone?”

  Of the lord governor, only a blood stain remained where he had stood. Of the King’s court wizard, Adolphus, only half a torso was found, clad in the shredded robes of the courtly mage. Edward was with the group of riders that included the officers of the 13th. The prince nearly cried from joy when he discovered his brother, the king, still lived. Edward embraced his brother, knelt, and kissed his ring when he arrived.

  Belfair was among those who had survived, too. He came striding up, huffing and puffing minutes after everyone else. “Majesty, I am relieved you are well. Thank the dead gods, you still live.” Then, when he noticed Khathan was attending to the king, he scowled, “Unhand the king, sir. You are not fit to lick his boot, you bloody rumjohnny.”

  The king put up a hand, “No.” Everything stopped. Belfair stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. All eyes rested upon the king. “This man is fit to attend me. It is my will. You will stand down, Lord Belfair.” The king turned to Khathan, “What was your name again?”

  “I am Captain Dar Khathan of the 13th Dragoons, Aju of Rakjat.” Then, when the king showed no recognition, “I am a lord in Gulud.”

  “Yes. Captain Khathan.” King Victus repeated the name more slowly, “You have a very fine quality in you. Kneel.” He stood on shaking legs, “I need a sword,” the king proclaimed to the assembled gawking courtiers.

  Belfair stepped forward, his face turning red. “This man…” he began. The king's withering look silenced him, and the brigadier shrank back. The king extended his hand to Belfair. The brigadier stepped forward and knelt, took the king’s hand, and kissed the great ruby ring that sat on his finger. Then, the brigadier rose and went back to his place. Belfair did not look pleased, but he protested no more.

  Khathan hesitated, unsure of what was happening. His shoulder hurt a great deal. He nearly swooned.

  The king smirked at him, amused that he had not knelt, “Kneel, man, before I change my mind.” He hissed at the captain. Then he turned and shouted, “Sword!” As no one had presented him with one.

  Dryden pushed his way through the crowd, the cavalry officers having arrived. He pulled his sabre from its sheath. The Major’s Styranian blade had an ember glow to it. The Major handed the sword to the king, “I would be honoured if you would use mine, Majesty.”

  Khathan knelt before the king. He was starting to understand something of what was happening. There was nothing like a knighthood in Gulud.

  Then the king spoke, “Thou shalt defend the crown above all. Thou shalt act with bravery and faithfulness, always. Thou shalt make war upon my enemies, whomever they may be. Duty. Honour. These are your watchwords. Be good to the weak. Defend those who cannot defend themselves. Will you do these?”

  “I will, Majesty,” Khathan said. The king touched his shoulders with Dryden’s sword, “Arise, Sir Dar Khathan of Rakjat.”

  The Guludan knight stood, pride upon his face. He felt lightheaded. He looked around at the assembled men. Dryden was grinning at him. Some looked pleased, such as Charles, the king’s secretary and General Haddock. Others, including Belfair, had faces carved with hatred and resentment. The king looked at him with worry. The world began to spin. He felt light as a feather. Khathan heard someone call his name. He felt himself falling, and then the world went black.