However, the general was cordial. And his Kushan was certainly good. Excellent, in fact-without even a trace of an accent.
“A pleasure, Kungas.” His voice was a rich baritone.
The general hesitated, and then said:
“Please do not take this the wrong way, Kungas. But I must say I’m surprised to see you. We don’t really need an escort. We didn’t have one on the trip here from Bharakuccha. We’re quite capable of taking care of ourselves.”
Kungas’ face cracked into a tiny smile.
“Yes, I have seen. However, the lord was quite insistent.”
“Ah.” The general was diverted for a moment, swiping at a fly which landed on his neck. Kungas noted, however, that the foreigner’s keen brown eyes never left off their scrutiny of him. And that he killed the fly regardless.
After flicking away the dead insect, the general commented idly:
“I would have thought you would be assigned to join the hunt for the princess and her rescuers-ah, excuse me, abductors.”
The iron face grew harder still.
“I fear my lord has developed a certain distrust for us. I do not understand why. The princess was not resc- ah, abducted-while we were guarding her.”
Kungas thought the general was fighting back a smile. But he was not certain. A hard man to read.
“Besides,” Kungas continued, “Lord Venandakatra really has no need for us to join the pursuit. He already has hundreds of Rajput cavalry scouring the countryside, and well over a thousand other troops.”
The foreign general looked away for a moment. When the eyes turned back, his gaze seemed particularly intent.
“What is your professional assessment, Kungas? Do you think the princess and her-ah, abductors-will be caught?”
“One abductor only, General.”
“One?” The general frowned. “I had heard a whole band of vicious cutthroats were responsible. The palace was a scene of utter massacre, according to rumor.”
“Massacre? Oh, yes. Massacre, indeed. The majordomo, three high priests, and two mahamimamsa guards garroted. Eleven priests and mahamimamsa butchered in their beds-their throats cut by a razor, apparently. A priest and a mahamimamsa slain in the great hall. Handwork, that, by a deadly assassin. Three mahamimamsa knifed outside the antechamber. A priest and six more mahamimamsa guards slaughtered in the antechamber. Blade-work again, mostly. Then, two more mahamimamsa slain in the princess’ own sleeping chamber. Assassin handwork again, although-”
“Although?”
Kungas made a quick assessment. Partly, the assessment was based on his memory of Venandakatra’s scowls toward the general. But, in the main, it was based on the faint but unmistakable trace of humor in the general’s voice when he used the word “abductors.”
“Well, as it happens, I examined the scene of the-ah, crime-myself. At Lord Venandakatra’s behest. That is why I said ’one abductor.’ The entire operation was carried out by one man.”
“ One man?” demanded the general. But he did not seem particularly astonished.
Kungas nodded. “Yes. One man. The trail of slaughter was that left by a single man, not a group. One man, alone. A man by the name of Raghunath Rao. The Panther of Maharashtra, he is sometimes called. Or the Wind of the Great Country. Other names. It was he. I am certain of it. He is known to have a personal attachment to the princess. There are not more than three-possibly four-assassins in India who are that deadly. And none has that proficiency with their bare hands and feet.”
Kungas almost grimaced. “No one else can shatter bones and pulverize bodies that way. That is why-ah, that is, the two mahamimamsa who were killed in the princess’ own chamber were also slain by hand. But the blows, though skillful, had none of the pure fury of the Panther’s.”
The general frowned.
“But-you said one man-”
“The princess. She killed them. She was trained by Raghunath Rao, you see. Such, at least, is my personal belief. I watched her dance, many times, in the long months I served as her captor-ah, guardian. Wonderful dancer, but-well, there was always that scent of the assassin about her movements. And in Amaravati, at the end of the siege, she killed several Ye-tai who attacked her in her room. One of them after she was disarmed.”
The general’s eyes widened. Slightly.
Kungas lowered his head, stared at the ground. When he spoke, his voice was as hard as his face.
“As to your first question-will they be captured? Yes. They will. Their position is hopeless.”
“Why are you so certain?”
Kungas shrugged, looked up. “She is but a girl, General. A princess. Oh, true, a princess like no other you’ve ever seen. A princess out of legend. But still-she’s never been hunted. She has no experience, or real training, in the skills of eluding a thousand men through the forest and mountains.”
Kungas shook his head, forestalling the general’s question.
“It doesn’t matter. Even with Raghunath Rao to help her and guide her, she-” A pause. “You’ve hunted, I’m sure, in a large party. Or even with just one other man. Who sets the pace? Who frightens off the game? Who misses the shot?”
The general replied instantly: “The weakest man. The poorest hunter.”
Kungas nodded. “Exactly. So-well, if Raghunath Rao were alone, I believe he would outwit and escape his pursuers. But even for him, the task would be extraordinarily difficult, with such an immense number of hunters on his trail. Encumbered by the princess-” He shrugged again. “It is simply not possible. No, they will be caught.”
Kungas saw the general glance aside. He seemed to stiffen a bit. Perhaps.
Kungas followed his glance. The last members of the foreign party had arrived and were approaching their howdah. The young black prince from Ethiopia and his women.
Kungas had heard tales of the prince. His rampant lust; his viciousness toward his concubines. He had shrugged off the tales, for the most part. Resentful, malicious envy toward royalty and high nobility was so common as to make all such tales suspect.
But, as he watched, he decided that the tales were perhaps true, after all. The women certainly seemed fearful and abject. All of them were veiled and kept their heads down. Very submissive. None of their faces could even be seen, so timid were the wretched creatures. There were none of the flashing, excited, inquisitive gazes one normally saw from young girls embarking on a journey.
One woman’s face was partially visible to Kungas, now. She was weeping softly, comforted by a second woman who was holding her and guiding her along. The prince suddenly cuffed one of the other women on the back of her head. Then cuffed the last in the little group. Hurrying them aboard, out of royal petulance and impatience. Apparently, however, the prince’s temper was not particularly aroused. The young royal was massively built, if not tall. Wide-shouldered, thick-chested, extremely muscular. With that frame, his cuffs could have easily knocked the girls off their feet. Yet they barely seemed to nudge them.
One girl was hoisted up into the howdah, helped by the black soldier who was apparently serving as the mahout. Then another, the weeping one.
“They are all Maratha, I understand,” commented Kungas, making idle conversation.
The general nodded. “Yes, Prince Eon’s developed quite a taste for the breed. He has a whole gaggle of the creatures.” A little laugh. “I’m not sure how many, actually. Nobody can keep track.”
A third girl, the one who had been comforting the weeper, made ready to climb aboard. Smallish. Much darker-skinned than the average Maratha. Very lithe in her movements, too. Kungas admired the fluid grace with which the girl took the hand of the mahout, began the climb up the great elephant. Her bare foot stretched out A beautiful dancer. Such incredible grace. Lithe, fluid. And I was always struck by her feet. The prettiest feet I ever saw. Quicksilver. High-arched, slim-heeled, perfectly shaped toes.
The girl entered the howdah. The fourth and fifth girls followed. The prince went up last, drew the curtains behind him.
Kungas stood as rigid as a post. He could not help it. Neither that, nor his face. Like iron, his face, as always
