Pride of Empires (The Powers of Amur Book 3) Read online

  Viksha looked at him with bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t been tempted by another’s service? You haven’t passed secrets of the Dhigvaditya to anyone outside these walls, nor to anyone within who is not in the service of the Emperor?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Kirshta leaned over to Chadram. “Ask again about the invasion of the Dhigvaditya. There was something there.”

  Chadram looked at the soldier. “You were not under my command when we fought for the Dhigvaditya. But you fought for the Emperor?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  Chadram glanced at Kirshta. Kirshta nodded.

  “You weren’t tempted by any other’s service? Were you half-hearted?”

  “I fought for no one else…. I mean—”

  “Tell the truth,” Kirshta said.

  “I fought for the Emperor. But I took money.”

  Chadram raised an eyebrow. “You mean from the palace.”

  “No, I mean….” Distress showed on his face, his eyes drawn together, his mouth open in anguish. “I was afraid of Dumaya. My commander chose to be loyal to the Emperor, but I wanted to report him, fearing that the Emperor had no chance, and that I would be safer remaining in Dumaya’s service. But my commander gave me money, told me to be quiet until the day and fight for the Emperor. And so I did.”

  A grunt of displeasure sounded from Vadya. He looked at Chadram with a cold glare, but true to his word, he said nothing.

  “That’s all?” Chadram asked.

  “That’s all,” Viksha said. “I swear it, by Lord Am and ram’s blood, I’ve never fought for anybody except the Emperor. And I’m loyal now, I have no other interest. I am sworn to the Emperor’s service—”

  “I recommend execution,” Vadya said.

  Viksha remained with his mouth open, his jaw trembling.

  “I thought I told you to be quiet,” Chadram said.

  “You told me not to interject with the prisoners. But the interrogation is over. Now we merely discuss consequences.”

  “Then don’t be ridiculous.” He gestured at Viksha. “I may have him flogged, merely to set an example. But he never acted wrongly, and if I execute every person who ever harbored a doubt about the Emperor, then I’ll fill the Dhigvaditya up with blood.”

  Vadya lifted his chin and looked at Chadram from a haughty height. “We serve the Emperor. His desires are our only concern.”

  Chadram lowered his voice. “You be careful. You are still under my command. I, too, serve the Emperor, and I’ll be making final decisions here.”

  Viksha stiffened back into the Cane posture. Chadram looked at him with pity.

  “You made a poor choice,” Chadram said. “However, you were in a difficult situation, and I cannot hold you culpable for what any man might have done if the Powers gave him a similar fate.”

  Viksha hung his head and breathed in what seemed like relief. But—

  A flood of images surged through Kirshta. Blood, black slippered feet, a bronze sword, Chadram in chains, Praudhu facedown in a pool of blood, Blood….

  “The Emperor is coming,” Kirshta said, his voice rising with alarm. “Beware, the Emperor is coming. Keep silent. Beware.” He could barely swallow a scream.

  “What are you so concerned about—” Chadram began, but he was cut off by a herald who appeared at the doorway.

  “The Emperor of all Amur, Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, will enter to examine this soldier,” the herald said.

  In a heartbeat they prostrated themselves. Soft footsteps appeared in the doorway, feet in black slippers, and the herald said, “You may all rise.”

  Kirshta lifted his head but remained on his knees. Praudhu stood in the doorway in a gown of emerald silk, his hands folded over his belly, a concerned expression on his face. Blood pooled beneath his feet.

  “I have come to verify your examination of the first prisoner,” he said. “To establish precedent. You have already interrogated him?”

  “Yes, my Emperor” Chadram said. “I recommend that he be given twenty lashes in the midst of the Dhigvaditya, and his crime be made public. But after that he may return to duty.”

  “And what is the crime for which you recommend such a light punishment?”

  Viksha’s eyes were white with terror. In farsight Kirshta saw his face painted in blood. The whole room was covered in blood. Blood dripped from Vadya’s hands and made puddles under Praudhu’s gown. Chadram’s fists were wet with blood. Kirshta shivered and swallowed bile.

  Chadram answered. Kirshta heard his words as if underwater. “He accepted coins in exchange for fighting on your side during the battle for the Dhigvaditya.”

  “So he doubted the rightness of my claim to the empire?”

  “I don’t know whether he doubted, my Emperor, but he was trapped in the Dhigvaditya with Dumaya, and acted accordingly.”

  “Very well,” Praudhu said. “Execute him.” Blood gushed from his mouth and dribbled down his gown.

  Kirshta pulled away from the inner stillness and closed the eye of his farsight with as much vehemence as he could muster. He saw only blood and carnage, horror and fear.

  Get out of the Ushpanditya.

  But he had gotten in with sweat and pain, anguish and misery. And who knew how far away the carnage was? Farsight was far, and the sight of the Powers did not respect calendars.

  He blinked. The blood disappeared. Vadya spoke, his voice serpentine and smooth.

  “That was my recommendation as well, my Emperor. No one who retained a hint of loyalty to Dumaya should be permitted to stay.”

  “A third of the legion of Majasravi remained loyal to Dumaya during the fight,” Chadram said angrily, his voice rising. “They have since re-sworn allegiance to the Emperor. Should I execute all of them?”

  Vadya raised his chin. “Perhaps you should.”

  “Cease your arguing and take care of this one,” Praudhu said with a wave of his hand. “I will wait in the yard of the Dhigvaditya. Bring the prisoner when you’re ready.” He turned on his heel and padded out of the room, preceded by the herald.

  Chadram fixed Vadya with a glare like a spear-point. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I am loyal to the Emperor,” Vadya said with a hiss.

  “I don’t think you know what game you’re playing,” Chadram said, “and I don’t think you’ll like the outcome if you play it.”

  Vadya’s lips drew together into a taut, thin line. “We’ll see.”

  Chadram turned to Kirshta. “And are you okay? You look like you’ve been stabbed.”

  “I’m fine,” Kirshta mumbled. “I am… I foresaw this man’s death.” It was the truth, if not all of it.

  “Go back to your chamber,” Chadram said. He turned to Viksha, the condemned, who stood silently in the middle of the room, his jaw trembling and his eyes squeezed shut. Chadram opened his mouth once as if to offer him some condolence or commiseration, but after a breath he closed it again and shook his head. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and turned him out of the room.

  He left footsteps of blood on the floor. Kirshta stared, but couldn’t blink them away.

  * * *

  He returned to his room at the base of the Emperor’s Tower with his head swimming with visions of blood and the face of the doomed man. He put his hand on the silk screen covering the door. Were his hands covered with blood? No, that was Praudhu.

  He paused before he pulled the curtain aside. A noise came from within. Rapid breathing, a muttered word, and a half-swallowed moan.

  “Vapathi?” he asked.

  The clatter of rapid movement and a curse. Vapathi’s voice said something, and a grunt responded. Kirshta pulled the curtain aside and stepped in.

  Apurta stood there with the fabric of his dhoti wrapped hastily around his middle, trying to tuck the end into the waist and get the thing folded properly. He glanced at Kirshta once, the looked down and refused to
look up again. Vapathi was fully undressed, and with a glare at Kirshta she covered herself with the sari that lay beneath her on the ground.

  “Sorry,” Apurta mumbled. He dared to glance up at Kirshta, then looked down again in shame. He ran to the door and disappeared out the curtain. Kirshta was too stunned to stop him.

  Kirshta looked back at Vapathi. She tugged her choli back on over her breasts and stood up, letting the fabric of the sari fall away from her.

  “Apurta?” Kirshta asked her. His mind was muddled with blood, and his discovery made his vertigo worse. His tongue refused to form full sentences. “Apurta?”

  Vapathi sighed. She finished draping the sari and tucked the loose ends of fabric into the waist, draping it with a neatness that gave no clue of the rapidity with which it had been done. “Yes, Apurta. Sorry for using your room. We can’t meet in the barracks, and the maids’ chambers are always occupied.”

  “But…” Kirshta gestured to the door, then back at Vapathi. “Why Apurta?”

  She looked at Kirshta curiously. “I like Apurta.”

  “I didn’t ask you to lie with him.”

  Vapathi laughed, a high clear sound that brightened Kirshta’s thoughts even in the fog of his confusion. “My dear brother. I wasn’t doing this for you. I was doing it for me.”

  “Oh.”

  His thoughts slowly took on a concrete shape. Kirshta understood abstractly others’ obsession with the act, though he’d never had the slightest interest himself. When he was traveling with the Red Men they seemed to talk about nothing but whores. But he had believed that Vapathi’s liaisons were all tactical, payments made to the men who could be corrupted by her body. It had never occurred to him what she might like to do on her own.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m very… distracted. The meeting with Chadram….”

  Vapathi put her hand on his cheek. “Do you want to talk?”

  He shook his head and answered cautiously. “Later. Apurta… does he please you?”

  Vapathi smoothed her hair and looked over her sari again. She gave him an odd smile. “I already told you I liked him. From the moment we met I found him pleasant. But if you mean to ask whether I enjoy him, then I’m a little surprised by your forwardness, but I suppose the answer is also yes.”

  Kirshta breathed heavily. “That’s good, I guess. I mean, I’m glad for you.”

  “You are such a strange brother,” Vapathi chuckled. She knelt to rearrange the reed mat and crumpled sheets which she and Apurta had disturbed. “You should go talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s probably hiding in the Dhigvaditya thinking that you’re going to boil his insides with thikratta’s fire.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “That’s what most brothers would do, and I don’t know if he understands you better than that yet.”

  “Oh,” Kirshta said. He understood nothing about this subject without Vapathi explaining it to him. “I also have to tell him about Praudhu-daridarya.”

  Vapathi looked up sharply. “Something important?”

  “Yes,” Kirshta said. He could almost talk about it—almost. “We should stay clear of the Emperor.”

  “My plan all along.”

  Kirshta dropped to sit atop a cushion. He rested his head in his hands. “Can you find Apurta for me? Tell him I’m not angry. I’ll talk to him myself when I’m ready.”

  She checked her sari for the last time. “I’ll find him,” she said. She gave him a long, hard stare. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He took several moments to answer. “This will not be as easy as I had hoped.”

  “Nothing ever is.” She bent and squeezed his hand, then left the room.

  Sadja

  The boat moored on a dock below the broad, green-painted estate rising from the banks of the Saru river. Sadja stepped onto the dock with a nod to the oarsman, then looked up to see Lushatha descending the stone staircase between banks of rhododendrons. He was older than Sadja, perhaps fifty, with silver along his temples and in his mustache, and clad in a black silk kurta with fine red stitching along the edges. A single attendant in red-and-black livery accompanied him with a short spear.

  As soon as Lushatha stepped onto the planks of the dock he bowed to Sadja and said warmly, “Sadja-dar. How delightful to make your acquaintance. I had not expected that the king of Davrakhanda would call on me for a boat ride in Majasravi.”

  Surely Lushatha had received all sorts of callers whom he hadn’t previously entertained, now that the news of the cur’s betrothal to Basadi was public. Sadja bowed in return and offered Lushatha a bright, amicable smile. “Lushatha-kha, likewise.”

  “Is this your boat?” Lushatha asked, gesturing to the red-painted longboat with a canopy over its center. “A fine vessel.”

  “Fine enough for an afternoon row on the Saru,” Sadja said. “I miss being near the water when I’m away from Davrakhanda. Plus the river is calmer than the sea and makes for better rowing.”

  “Does it? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been to the sea.” Lushatha gestured for his attendant to enter the boat ahead of him, but Sadja put his hand on Lushatha’s forearm.

  “Do we need the guard? I’ve left mine at home. We might speak more freely unencumbered by our men.”

  “But there’s the oarsman,” Lushatha said.

  Sadja laughed. “He’s mute. He understands my directions only by hand signs.”

  “Curious! Where did you hire him from?”

  “He’s part of my staff. I am at the River Palace, on the island to the south—”

  “Yes, of course. I know the place. But I thought it was a residence for members of the imperial house.”

  “It is,” Sadja said, “but since the days of Aidasa the kings of Davrakhanda have had use of it as they would.”

  “Curious,” Lushatha said again. “I wonder why I never heard of it.”

  “Probably because we don’t come to Majasravi as often as we should,” Sadja said with a small smirk. “Something I hope to remedy.”

  “Very well,” Lushatha said, and he dismissed the footman with a wave of his hand. “The boat isn’t so large anyway.

  They stepped into the vessel and arranged themselves on the cushions beneath the canopy. At a gesture from Sadja, the oarsman loosed the moorings and pushed away from the dock, launching them into the placid shallows of the river. The palms and flowers of the estate’s river garden slowly moved past them.

  “I was thinking we would row by the Majavaru Lurchatiya,” Sadja said. “The view of it from the river is better than anything you can get in the city.”

  “A fine idea,” Lushatha said. “One of my favorite boating trips to make, in fact.”

  “Do you go out on the river often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like,” Lushatha said with a sigh. “There are always other things to do, alas. The rice harvest was recently completed, and I spent several weeks moving between holdings to receive the peasants’ rents and the reports of my stewards. And I have another estate in Kaugali, the city of my holding.”

  “Ah,” Sadja said. “I had wondered of what city you were majakhadir.”

  “About three days from here if you travel quickly,” Lushatha said. “A beautiful place. The gardens there were replanted by my father and have grown up majestically. And my family is the patron of the city’s temple to Am Gaudakhatta. It is among the finest in Amur. Not, of course, that it compares to the Majavaru Lurchatiya.”

  “Nothing compares to the Majavaru Lurchatiya,” Sadja said pleasantly. “In Davrakhanda we have the Ashtyavarunda, the great temple to Ashti—”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Lushatha broke in, “but never had the opportunity to see it.”

  “—but even it does not surpass the glories of the Majavaru Lurchatiya.” He paused for a breath. “When Basadi-dar comes, do you think she’ll reside here in Majasravi or in Kaugali?”

  “Majasravi,” Lushatha said without a moment’s hesitat
ion. “She is the Emperor’s daughter, and has spent her whole life in the Moon Palace of Gumadha. I may love Kaugali, but I don’t expect Basadi-dar to see much in it at first.”

  “So you worry about her boredom outside the imperial city?”

  “I worry….” Lushatha pinched his lip for a moment. “I don’t know that I worry at all, actually. But I don’t want to constrain her in a small city immediately after our wedding.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Sadja said. He reached beneath his seat and brought out the silk pouch which he had stashed there. “A token of Davrakhanda, as a gift before your wedding.”

  Lushatha took the pouch, pried the laces apart, and dropped the prize inside into his hand. He held it up to the sun: an oversized silver coin, with the sea-eagle of Davrakhanda stamped onto one side in high relief.

  “The kings of Davrakhanda have often given these coins to their friends and allies,” Sadja said. “It seemed like a fitting present before your marriage to the princess.”

  “Truly fine. The etching is of excellent quality.” Lushatha dropped the coin back into its pouch and tucked it into a pocket within his kurta. “I shall have to give you something in return when we get back to my estate. I haven’t anything nearly so fine or so prominent, being merely majakhadir of Kaugali—”

  “Ah, but Kaugali is a fine place, you said.”

  Lushatha grinned. “That it is.”

  For a few moments they were quiet as the oarsman paddled them up the slow-moving river. The river bank in this portion of the city was lined with the city estates of the nobles who crammed into Majasravi, trimmed with manicured gardens of palms and sculpted banyans, overlooked by balconies and porticoes painted in bright colors. They crept around the bend in the river, and the bulk of the great temple slowly emerged from the morning haze. The only sound was the quiet ripple of the oar in the water.

  “Do you know much about the Princess Basadi-dar?” Sadja asked as the temple domes rose ahead of them.

  “Little aside from what I have received from her father,” Lushatha said. “She’s never been to Majasravi.”

  “Even Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, was very seldom in Majasravi while his father lived,” Sadja said. “I don’t know that anyone here in Majasravi has actually seen Basadi-dar. Certainly not outside the Moon Palace. Does that fill you with any anxiety?”