The calm river flowed on, it’s water illuminating with a hint of mysticism under the changing dusk light —orange, purple, yellow and red— the colors of a day fleeing into twilight. It was for only a moment, but the scene flanked by the deep forests left a lasting impression on Bhagat. He quietly stared into amble water, watching as the sun sank down the forest roof for the moon to rise in it’s place.
“The plan begins. Now.”
He turned to face the scouts.
“Vishar you’ll lead the group.”
The young, skinny man stiffened up for a moment, as if cringing from the mere thought.
“Perhaps you should… choose another scout…”
“No.” Bhagat patted on his shoulder. “You’re the most qualified of them all.”
“H-how?”
His expression grave, Vishar tried his best to gulp down, though the muscles in his throat thought otherwise, themselves flexing several times. Perhaps his throat grew dry?
Bhagat pulled out his waterskin and handed it for Vishar to drink. “You’ve been a scout for a lot longer. You’ve got attention to detail and you always get the job done. Who else here agrees?”
The men around him all gave their nods. Silent, only acknowledging his words. Vishar grimaced.
“Alright young master.”
He signalled the men to get on their horses and, tugging at their harnesses, ordered them forward. They leaped one by one, over the tranquil stream before disappearing completely in the shadows of the forest.
Why did I think they’d immediately accept a Taal becoming a squad leader?
Bhagat held his breath and faced his men who simply stared back. They all held neutral faces, their eyes empty without disdain nor anger. Simply staring.
Small steps. He glanced to the rising moon, it’s figure in full. Everything takes small steps…
Amidst the dull night, Vishar quietly glanced from a far as light brimmed further beyond him, the raging orange flame echoing around the settling camp. Nearby, but not close to be spotted amongst the shadows in the leaves, hidden from the faint moon. He looked to the man on his right.
“Ready? As soon as you get into position, let loose your arrows against unsuspecting men, blow your warhorn and retreat. Next will be you, then you, then I at around this position. We’ll then retreat back and lead them to young master Bhagat.”
The men nodded.
He glanced to his sides as his men disappeared into the surrounding darkness. They were already gone, spreading themselves apart, their figures shifting in the shallow shadows of the forest, the snapping of twigs become fainter as their figures turned to simple twigs themselves.
An hour later he could hear the Afrari shouts echoing a distance away. Torches scurried, their orange flames flickering eastwards in the shimmering moonlight. A warhorn boomed and the orange flames scurried faster, as if the men had broke into a sprint, the light zig-zagging around. Another warhorn blew, this time causing the light to flicker westwards. Another blew, the numerous torches roaming the camp now led into the surrounding forests.
“Damned Lohaanis! I’ll kill you all!” he could hear their vile whispers from the distance, the voice making it’s way closer to Vishar under the blazing torch’s light.
Vishar untied the rope between the saddle and his bow and took out an arrow from his quiver. Silently, he knocked the arrow and pulled back on the bowstring, the limbs bending with with strength.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
O Lady Lakhjmi, forgive me for my violence.
A faint wind rustled the leaves nearby, a few leaves landing on his head. The chill made his hands shake feebly, but not enough to loose the string prematurely. He opened his eyes, aiming the arrow just above the flickering torch.
And he let go.
It took only a few moments, but a dull sound echoed and then a thud. The torch fell to ground, it’s flame violently dancing.
“Master Zander! Enemy!” shouted a few ragged voices from a few meters behind. Vishar took those men out too before grabbing the warhorn from around his waist. With one heavy breath, he chanted the warsong for all to hear.
“Are you sure this plan’ll work?” asked Param, his voice seeming desperate.
“Of course,” reassured Bhagat, the end of his reddened sword rested in a dug out hole beneath the Earth, along with the heads of the arrows. “What did I just tell you. Those desert monkeys have always known one thing and that is to always charge at your enemy. It’s learned behaviour, like birds waiting for bread every morning. Their fierceness, morale and numbers in close combat are the reasons why we lose every time, yes, but put some distance between us, kill, stall and wait. They’ll call a retreat once they’ve lost enough men without making any real headway.”
“If you say so…” Param still didn’t seem convinced, but it was already too late to backtrack. The four warhorns had already been blown a good hour ago. He simply stared into the abyss of of the deep forest, the trees blocking ths serene moonlight that shone directly above them, the wind adding an extra layer of chill for the skin on his face to bear.
“Master Bhagat, I see something in the forest!” shouted one of the men to Param’s left. Param narrowed his eyes. Indeed, there was something coming. And fast.
The frequency of the twig snaps approached like an arrow whizzing past Param’s head, the noise becoming much more audible, and the pounding of the hooves becoming much more fiercer with each passing breath.
“The scouts… have returned!” said a dry voice. Charging past the cover of the forest the scouts returned one at a time, Param counting. One… two… three…
Only three?
“What happened to the fourth scout?” shouted Bhagat. It seemed he was quicker than Param this time around too. Strange, usually it was Param who’d been quick to notice the minor details. Not that it mattered, it was a good thing.
“Vishar said he’d distract the enemy some more, make them believe we were attacking them in desperation.”
“The hell?” replied Bhagat.
“Enemy!” Param said in a hushed voice, pointing straight towards the dim stars beyond the roofed forest morphing into bright, flickering flames.
“Men!” Bhagat said, putting the worries of the missing scout to the back of his mind. He gave a loud yell in the tenuous dilemna. “Get your arrows and knock!”
Param complied, picking an arrow by the shaft and standing at the front of the line formation, kneeling as he knocked his bow. He could feel the heat warm his cold hands. He could feel them slowly thaw as he stared at the growing light from the distance.
“When do we shoot Bhagat?” Param asked.
“On my mark and the instructions are as we’ve rehearsed before. Remember, they may have bows on them as well. Shields are in front of the first and second rows. First row protects against arrows coming straight, second row protects from above. First row picks up swords and second rows pick up spears. If anyone fails, we all die.”
“Yes master Bhagat!” shouted the men, their voices determined. Yet as Param turned, he could see the sweat breaking on some of the men’s faces.
They didn’t have much trust in Bhagat’s plan.
“There isn’t much choice brother,” whispered Param to the young soldier beside him. “Just have faith and we’ll get through this. Alright?”
The man gulped down, the sound audible in the silence amongst them. “Yes brother. On Lakhjmi I’ll try my best.”
Param faced back the forest. The light crept closer, in any moment they’d push out of the forest.
“Get ready men!” Bhagat said, quiet not to disturb the Afrari’s folly.
“Find those Lohaanis!” Several men exited the cover of the forest, their hide equipment and scars visible on their faces.
“Master Zander!” One of them called. “There’s a small river here!”
“Then cross it!” A shout rang. “They shouldn’t be that far!”
The men glanced towards the other side of the river, Bhagat’s men barely hidden under the leaf roof. Moving forward, the sprinkles of water glistened under the moonlight as they marched trudgingly onwards, sinking their legs up to their knees.
“Fire!”
Param let loose his bowstring, hearing the rushed sound of fleeting arrows whizzing through the air.
Shrieks rang, the shimmering moonlight revealing the dark blood riding the river. Some of the Afraris stumbled backwards, others scrambled for their shields.
“Fire!”
Those scrambling men now settled into the water.
The enemies behind the dead scrambled back into the forest for cover.
“Lohaani attack!” Shouted a survivor, his voice filled with terror.
“Back into the forest!” Shouted the enemy leader, cursing loudly. “Now!”
“Fire!” ordered Bhagat again.
The river grew darker.
A faint light flickered behind Param. Bhagat was letting out the signal now.
“Horsemen charge! Bowmen, knock!”
Twigs snapped on either side as horses charged past, leaping over the river to assault the foe.
“Retreat!” Shouted Zander, his words fainter than before.
The foot soldiers of Zander’s little army turned tail, scurrying back into the darkness with all the strength left in their legs.
There was no way they’d let them run.
“Fire!”
The enemy fell once more, like rocks hitting the gravel road.
“Ru—
Another dozen were stopped in their tracks, swords digging into their necks. Bhagat’s horsemen continued, marching forth into the darkness to chase after the routers.
Bhagat was right… The clouds let loose the faint moonlight on the desecrated ground. His strategy worked!
“Victory to Lohaan!” He heard the men shout as the dull sounds of footstomps made their way across the narrow river.
“Victory to Lohaan!” joined Param, as he too leapt into the tainted scene under the dull moon.
