The tents were set up at the outskirts of the central ground, flags fluttering atop each to signify which group it belonged to. The groundskeepers were going through the audience seats, wiping down wooden seats and sweeping the stone floors one last time. The raised balconies for the nobles and royal families were decorated with flower-lines in every hue that Odho could find. She ducked around the stable of Torni’s horses and looked for the fawn coloured flag, eyes catching it three tents down the row.
The guards at the tent didn’t pay her attention beyond a courteous nod and let her enter without a word. One of them did eye the state of her dress but she didn’t wait to explain as she barged in.
“Did you start yet?” she asked as soon as she entered and the helper looked up from where he was about to arrange the armour on the table. Chatu was long used to her routine and didn’t bat an eye as she moved away from the armour, a gentle smile on his face as he greeted her.
“Unfortunately not,” the other man in the tent spoke up, tying his vest up as he faced away from them, “We almost got lucky this time, Chatu. Almost.”
“I don’t know why people think you’re funny,” she pointed at the armour and waved at Chatu to move, walking over to take his place as she kept talking, “Is it because they have a bad sense of humour or because they’re trying to humour you?”
“You’re just an hour early this time, an improvement,” the scale mail gleamed on the table, details of gold gilded over stronger iron, “Who spared us the other half an hour?”
Chatu looked at her and she nodded, letting him withdraw from the tent to get on with other things he needed to do. She got to checking the armour with sharp eyes and didn’t bother looking up when her companion came around to stand in front of her on the other side of the table. Only when she was satisfied with it did she glance up to see her brother raising a brow at her.
“Some days I wonder if you are my younger sister or my sasu ,” he commented as he reached out a hand to flatten her the mess of her hair, an exasperated look on his fond face, “Why did you make a bird’s nest out of your hair, what’s this, hmm?”
Out of the Paher siblings, Mogh was undoubtedly the most handsome with his dimples and thick dark hair. He wasn’t much taller than her but his neck was longer, graceful in its curve especially with the elegance he carried with him as he walked. Their aunts commented that she had inherited her father’s shoulders and he had inherited his mother’s waist, a contrast in energies. They had grown up with those comments, reflecting in everything they did and learnt. When he practiced his tanpura and she kept the rope of her manjira from getting knotted, there were talks of their temperaments. When she hefted her mace onto her shoulder and he picked up his intricately designed spear, there were discussions about their bravery distinctions. There wasn’t much they could do without discussions springing up at every turn.
Minar made a face when his fingers caught in a particularly tangled spot and he took his hand away to let her deal with it. She combed her fingers through her hair haphazardly and pulled it together to tie it up in a quick bun.
“One day I’m going to chop it off,” she swore as she got back to work, pushing at her brother’s shoulder to get him to move.
“You chop it off and Rani-ma will chop you up,” he replied as he acquiesced, letting her inspect the swords lined up in wooden stands beside his javelin, “I heard news about a bet.”
“For you or me?”
“Both?” Mogh tilted his head vaguely as he held the curved sword she handed him, rotating his wrist as he demonstrated his comfort with it before letting her pick it away from his hand, “Apparently, the prince of Byumir started it and now there’s a whole pool.”
Minar hummed absently as she hefted his javelin in her palm, testing for any weight deviation. Mogh was proficient in many things, an equal to any challenge worthy of a fighter, but he wasn’t the most competitive and it reflected in his interest when it came to these events. Baba didn’t have objections to him skipping the meet if he chose to but they would be goaded, snide remarks coming through in the banquets. She got her share of remarks too, of rough hands too square for delicate glass bangles and too heavy on opponents at the akhada . It didn’t matter if she were dutiful when it came to the court or when he was dedicated when it came to battle plans - they were still the odd duo from Agapura.
Mogh was calm in the face of these, and Minar tried it too. She just wasn’t quite successful when it was rebuke served to her brother.
They went through the entire process of meditating together, Minar taking charge of setting up his armour once they were done and Mogh obliging every demand as he always did when she was involved. This was their ritual and had been so since their childhood, when Mogh was all knobbly knees and Minar was too big for carrying arms.
“Sardar Goha Prabhat and Aga Angara Paher Mahir are here!” the guard announced and Minar glanced longingly at the plate of kheer she was about to dig into before sighing as she stood. Mogh got to his feet with his hands calm by his sides and greeted the leaders with a respectful bow. Minar followed suit and discreetly winked at her father when he glanced at her but he didn’t look his cheerful self today.
“Mogh,” Paher Mahir had a kind voice that had filled his children’s memories with bedtime stories and encouragement, but it came out regretful as he addressed his son, “We’ve received some troubling rumours.”
“Rumours?” Goha Prabhat was a stoutly honoured man with his temper rivalling his stature, both shorter than acceptable in common grounds, “Didn’t you see my servant bring the proof, Mahir?”
“Someone,” Mahir didn’t raise his voice but he didn’t look away from his children either, making it clear that he wouldn’t care for interruption, “claims to have found a concentrated box of Ahilya rasasindura in your chambers and allege that you consumed it to boost your strength.”
Rasasindura, a mercury-based tonic, was permitted for the healers to use against ailments and to boost immunity. It was potent and Mogh had used it once or more back at home, when he fell sick. But they never used the Ahilya version, which was both illegal to possess and use. Minar was prone to questioning rules at times, and Mudhra di was lesser but Mogh was the last person to ever breaking one this important.
“Who claims this?” Minar asked but Mogh didn’t look perturbed.
“It isn’t mine,” he said without nervousness or offence, “I don’t have such a thing in possession.”
Mahir nodded, looking at Goha Prabhat who shook his head as he eyed Mogh and frowned at Minar’s tempered glare.
“We have evidence, unfortunately,” he repeated, pulling out a small wooden box from the pouch hanging from his waist, holding it out for them to see, “Our servants found this while cleaning your quarters and reported it to the royal healer. What do you expect us to do?”
“Believe him,” Minar spoke up, meeting the older man’s gaze with confidence, “Why would Mogh use something he knows will get him into trouble right before the tournament? It makes no sense and he just confirmed that it isn’t his.”
“What you see is always easier to believe than what is said, Paher Minar,” the chief of Odho reminded her, “If Mogh goes to fight now, it will never be taken into account honourably.”
“How is that supposed to be higher than the truth?”
“I believe you,” Mahir cut through, looking at his son without hesitation and Mogh nodded slowly, “I know your truth and so does everyone at Agapura. You have nothing to prove to us.”
“Baba,” Minar insisted as she took a step towards her father, “He has worked too hard, we have prepared too much to not have this chance. He has done nothing wrong.”
“I know,” her father agreed but Mogh looked over at Goha Prabhat.
“If I back out from the event today, what happens to Agapura’s representation?”
“You already had the first session where she participated, didn’t you?” the leader asked as he glanced at Minar but she didn’t acknowledge the courtesy.
“We have to participate in both sessions to have a shot at the complete championship,” she pointed out and Mogh stepped forward, ignoring her as he stared at Leader Prabhat.
“Can somebody else fill-in for me?” he enquired, looking straight ahead even when Minar shot him a chiding look for giving in too easily. Goha Prabhat considered it but nodded and Mogh inhaled before accepting.
“Then I request you to do so,” he asked, “We will be sending our stand-by to keep up the rules of the tournament. I ask that you allow us the time to choose one though, and thus let us announce the name later. If that will not be a problem?”
“Mogh -”
“If that shouldn’t be a problem?” he insisted, not letting Minar argue and Goha Prabhat looked at Mahir before agreeing. They waited till he took his leave before Minar whirled on her brother.
“What?” he laughed at her troubled expression and looked at his father, who was shaking his head with a tired smile, “We can still do this, why are you two so upset?”
“Let me go find out who did this,” Minar declared but Mogh shifted to block her way, a serious look in his eyes.
“No”
“Mogh”
“We have different priorities right now,” he reminded her, holding her shoulders gently when she grit her jaw, “Agapura’s honour is much more important than me participating. So, I need to ask you two questions. First, is your wound okay?”
Her back still twinged from the morning session but it wasn’t severe, far tamer than the bruises she got during training back home. Mogh looked sceptical for a second but nodded when she insisted that she was fine.
“Good, then my second question,” he untied the arm-band from his left and held it out, “Will you fight for us?”
“They’ll have objections,” Mahir pointed out and Mogh looked over his shoulder, “The first session was for the lightweights according to them and they didn’t raise trouble about her. But this session is of crown princes and champions.”
“And she is both for us,” Mogh defended without hesitation, calm in his rebuttal, “Baba, the rules don’t restrict her and she is better than all of them combined. The only reason they didn’t register her for this category is because they cannot handle her. Well, now they don’t have a choice.”
Minar eyed the red and black arm-band, her frustration warring with an understanding of what her brother was saying. She didn’t have the temper problem that some royals thought she did but she had a wit that matched her mace and a tongue that wasn’t trained into cowardice. Diplomacy and courtesy were taught to them from a young age, and she could dabble in both when needed to, but there were some areas that they didn’t matter to her.
“I guess I need to change then,” she said, meeting Mogh’s eyes with a glint of amusement.
The crowd was roaring in encouragement as she entered the arena, dressed in her firmly laced leather armour, silver arm guards and the tournament’s arm-band in place, her mace held in her right hand. The mace, Godhuli, had been forged with the strongest steel from Jevadhi, smelted by the blacksmiths who added the vigour of bamboo and carbon-rich plants to it. Dipped in the heat of an active volcano deep in Iridwipa’s volatile islandic soil, it had an iron apex over the dark core with two halves of carbonized silver forming domes on the sides. The silver sun painted in the centre glinted as she tossed it in her hand, gripping the iron rod as she looked up at those gathered to witness the events.
Queen Tuhina sat beside their hostess and Minar caught sight of her mother turning to look at Mogh when he took his place beside Mahir. Minar didn’t react when Tuhina looked back at her, knowing that Mogh would handle it later. Instead, she waited beside the other contenders in the ceremonial line as the oath of valour was read out to remind them of holding a fair event in the presence of their ancestors.
The session was divided into three tests - close combat, distance conquering, and control against multiple threats. Where Mogh would have chosen his spear, Minar fought the prince of Byumir with Godhuli. He was aggressive, stance wide and arms long as he took to the offensive from the start. When he began getting annoyed over her defense, the blow to her thigh came viciously and Minar heard the uproar from the crowd nearby even as she got back to her feet. It took restraint to not pummel him into a mess but she managed to tire him into leaving himself unblocked, delivering her series of attacks with precision of training flowing through.
The distance event was a choice between the heavier discus and the longer javelin. Minar caught the eye of her father watching from the balcony as she took her place, the discus in hand. Her eyes moved to Mogh and she could see the utter calm in his posture, the confidence that was always given freely. She turned back to her target and let her body twist, clutching the weapon in her right hand as she spun once before releasing it in the direction of the measuring line. The crowd went wild as she placed right beside the other finalist, the crown prince of Torni.
Saneh Dhara Lamhan was a royal’s favourite in many ways. His upbringing was famed among matchmakers and spoken highly by his teachers. There had been a secret clamour to gain his hand in alliance for many lands. It was a disappointment to a few when his parents had approached Paher Mahir for the hand of Paher Mudhra, his niece and foster daughter.
It was fitting that he was now matched to win against his sister-in-law-to-be.
Minar watched as Saneh Dhara went up against three champions, his sword beaming in the sun’s glare as he attempted to fulfil his mission. The motive of the last test was to see how the contender would protect a defenseless being against multiple attacks delivered by champions chosen from the land’s knights. He was good, swift and alert as he shielded the blacksmith meant to be the target of the attacks. He had almost vanquished two champions when Minar noted the third one pick up his bow.
Her fist curled in stunned anger as she saw Saneh Dhara realised the plan too late, the arrow hitting its mark before he could help. There was an applause of congratulation and sympathy for the prince as the helpers came to carry away the wounded blacksmith quietly. Saneh Dhara swallowed his disappointment as he walked off the ground but offered Minar a courteous nod of good luck.
She knew that she would need more than luck the minute she saw the ‘target’ chosen for her. He was tall, a nervous looking man who was more bones than flesh under the plain clothes and hastily tied turban that was just a towel of cotton. His eyes looked panicked, frenzy increasing as he glanced at the champions surrounding them.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she took her place and the man jerked his gaze towards her, looking like he was minutes away from throwing up.
“Gunshi,” his voice cracked and she hated this, hated that this was somehow considered a test of courage and leadership. She didn’t need a helpless man to be terrified for people to praise her valour.
She couldn’t spend time on raging about that though and steeled her nerves as she held the man’s gaze for a minute.
“Brother Gunshi, you will go home safe today,” she said calmly, the promise hardening her words with fire. He swallowed hard but nodded when she waited for his response, looking at the champions when she turned to face them.
Her feet ached, the sun scorching the sand beneath them, and her thigh screamed murder as she fought around the man. It was not a fight for honour or recognition and Minar didn’t bother with finesse as she caught every blow with her sword and shield, pushing back to keep Gunshi safe. They were older than her, more seasoned and battle-trained in their strategies, but Minar was fighting for life.
She fought harder for others than for herself.
They tired her down but she kept her arms up, letting sweat drip down her neck and throat parch as she knocked one, and the second. The last one standing was trickier and Minar’s shield was thrown away by the time she faced him.
She saw the arrow release and knew that there was no victory here even as she threw her sword at the opponent. There was no name to be gathered in the blood of the innocent.
One jump, a helpless half-scream from the frightened man targeted, a dull noise of the arrow embedding itself in flesh.
The silence of the crowd broke with the cheer from a young woman who held Agapura’s banner in the top rows and Gunshi slowly opened his eyes to see what had happened.
“Told you,” Minar grinned, blood staining down her arm as she blocked his path, an arrow sticking into the red and black arm-band, “You missed my winning dive.”
Gunshi’s hysterical relief was drowned out by the rush of the crowd that descended onto the ground, wanting to lift their champion into the air. Mogh dug his way through the sea of people and caught a laughing Minar as she was let down, clasping her face in his hands with a disbelieving yet worried smile.
“I told you to fight, not get killed,” he shook his head even as he squeezed her cheeks, eyes peering at the arrow before looking around for the healers, “You’re losing blood, we need to get that out right now.”
“ Dada ,” she let him help her out of the rejoicing crowd and leaned her weight against him as they walked to the tent, “What happened to the bet?”
Mogh helped her into the tent even as the healers rushed in, scurrying around them to arrange the medicines necessary. Making her rest on the cot, he watched over the chief physician cauterise the wound and brought over the warm water when requested, leaving the tent only when her dressing was to be done.
When he came back, a few good minutes of pain later, he held a dark bow in hand. It had three rings of white engraved on top and five in the bottom, distinct against the black of the wood. There was an arrow clutched alongside it and it had one shining dot of silver near its tip.
Minar blinked groggily at her brother but he simply placed the items near her bedside and pressed her head back onto the cot.
“That’s Byumir’s finest bow,” he explained as he sat down near her, “It’s from the bet. You won.”
They stared at each other for a quiet second before Minar began laughing, and Mogh shook his head as he chuckled, both of them looking like fools when their parents finally came in to congratulate her.
The prince of Byumir had paid enough for his mischief in Mogh’s room but couldn’t complain about it to anyone. It seemed fitting.
