Fortune's stroke

direction.

His joy was no greater than Antonina's, or Eon's. That man was named Wahsi, and he was the commander of the Dakuen sarwe.

The prince's regiment, once. Now, in all likelihood, the royal regiment.

Wahsi reached them and swept the prince into his embrace. Other soldiers of the Dakuen sarwe were following, and their own joy was quite evident.

Antonina heard Eon's muffled voice: 'Gather the regiment, Wahsi. And the Lazen and the Hadefan sarawit, if my father and brother are dead. They must sit on Ousanas' judgement also, if I am to be the negusa nagast.'

He pried himself loose from Wahsi's clasp. Then, his face still cold and bleak, he issued his commands: 'First, we must search the ruins. Then we will have the ceremony, as soon as possible. There is no time to waste. This will not be Malwa's only blow. We are at war, and I intend to give them no respite. And no quarter.'

Wahsi nodded. His own expression was fierce. So were those on the faces of the soldiers standing around.

Antonina found herself seized by a sudden-and utterly inappropriate-urge to giggle. She fought it down savagely.

Bad move, Malwa. If you'd gotten Eon also-

But, you didn't. Bad move. Bad, bad, bad move.

Chapter 5

Deogiri

Spring, 532 A.D.

Nanda Lal, the Malwa Empire's chief spymaster, studied Deogiri. The walled city was two miles away from the hilltop where Nanda Lal was standing, just a few yards from Lord Venandakatra's pavilion. Venandakatra had placed his headquarters on the only hill in the area which approached Deogiri's elevation. The men who built Deogiri, centuries earlier, had designed the city for defense.

And designed it very well, he thought sourly.

Deogiri, upon whose ramparts Rao's rebels held Malwa at bay, was one of the best-fortified cities in India. The upper fortress, built on a conical rock at the top of a hill that rose almost perpendicularly from the surrounding plain a hundred fifty yards below. The outer wall of the city was nearly three miles in circumference, and three additional lines of fortification lay between it and the upper fortress. Throughout, the stonework was massive and well made.

Emperor Skandagupta had sent Nanda Lal here to determine why Lord Venandakatra was having so much difficulty subduing the Deccan rebellion. The task had not taken the spymaster long in the doing. An hour's study of Deogiri was enough, coming on top of the days which Nanda Lal had spent travelling here from Bharakuccha. Days, protected by a large escort of Rajputs, creeping through the hills of Majarashtra. Days, expecting a Maratha ambush-and fighting three of them off.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream, coming from somewhere behind him. Nanda Lal did not turn his head. He knew the source of that shriek of agony. The first of the Maratha guerrillas which his Rajput escort had captured during the last ambush was being fitted to the stake.

For a moment, the sound cheered him up. But only for a moment. Every town in Majarashtra had corpses fitted onto stakes. Still, the rebellion swelled in strength.

Silently, Nanda Lal cursed the Great Country. Silently, he cursed Raghunath Rao. Silently, he cursed the 'Empress' Shakuntala. But, most of all-

Hearing the approaching footsteps, he cursed their cause.

But most of all-curse you, Venandakatra! If you hadn't let Belisarius maneuver you into giving Rao his chance, Shakuntala would never have become such a thorn in our side.

He sighed, and turned away from Deogiri. The thing was done. Much as he would have liked to curse Venandakatra aloud-fit him to a stake, in truth-the unity of the Malwa dynastic clan had to be maintained. That, above all, was the foundation of Malwa's success.

'You see?' demanded Venandakatra, when he reached Nanda Lal's side. The Goptri of the Deccan pointed at Deogiri. 'You see? Is it not just as I said?'

Nanda Lal scowled. 'Do not push the matter, cousin!' he snapped. 'Deogiri was just as strong when you held it.'

Venandakatra flushed. But the color in his flabby cheeks was due more to embarrassment than anger. His eyes fell away from Nanda Lal's level gaze.

Nanda Lal, as was his way, twisted the blade. 'Before you-through your carelessness, Venandakatra-allowed Rao and his rebels to take Deogiri by surprise.' The spymaster sneered. 'No doubt you were preoccupied, raping another Maratha hill girl instead of attending to your duty.'

Venandakatra clenched his jaws, but said nothing. His thin-boned, fat-sheathed frame was practically shaking from fury. But, still, he said nothing.

Nanda Lal allowed the silence to linger, for perhaps a minute. Then, with a little shrug, he let the tension ease from his own shoulders. Thick shoulders, those were. Heavy with muscle.

'Good,' he murmured. 'At least you have not lost your wits.' Coldly: 'Do not let your kin proximity to the emperor blind you to certain realities, Venandakatra. My bloodline is equal to your own, and I am second in power only to Skandagupta himself. Do not forget it.'

Nanda Lal clapped a powerful hand on Venandakatra's shoulder. Under the fat, the thin bones felt like those of a chicken. The Goptri of the Deccan flinched, as much from the force of that 'friendly' gesture as surprise.

'Enough said!' boomed Nanda Lal. With his hand still on Venandakatra's shoulder, he steered the Goptri toward the pavilion.

As they neared the pavilion's entrance, their progress was interrupted by another shriek of agony. The first Maratha captive had apparently expired, and the second was being fitted onto a stake.

Venandakatra found the courage to speak. 'You should have used shorter stakes,' he grumbled.

Nanda Lal chuckled. 'Why bother?' He stopped, in order to examine the execution. The ground surrounding Venandakatra's pavilion had been packed down. Alongside the road which led north to Bharakuccha, six stakes had been erected. The first Maratha was dead, draped over his stake. The second was still screaming. The remaining four captives were bound and gagged. The gags would not be removed until the last moment, so that the Ye-tai conducting the execution would not be subject to curses.

'Why bother?' he repeated. 'The terror campaign is necessary, Venandakatra, but do not put overmuch faith in it. The Great Country is littered with skeletons on stakes. How much good has it done?'

Venandakatra opened his mouth, as if to argue the point. But, again, discretion came to his rescue.

Nanda Lal took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly through his nose. 'The emperor and I will tolerate your sadism, Venandakatra,' he murmured softly. 'Up to a point. That point ends when your lusts interfere with your duty.'

Throughout, Nanda Lal's hand had never left Venandakatra's shoulder. Now, with a shove, he forced the Goptri into the pavilion.

The pavilion's interior was lavish with furnishings. Thick carpets covered every inch of the floor. The sloping cotton walls were lined with statuary, silk tapestries, and finely crafted side tables bearing an assortment of carvings and jewelry.

With another shove, Nanda Lal pushed Venandakatra toward the great pile of cushions at the center of the pavilion. A third shove sent the Goptri sprawling onto them. Venandakatra was now hissing with outrage but, still, he spoke no words of protest.

Satisfied that he had cowed the man sufficiently, Nanda Lal scanned the interior of the pavilion. His eyes fell on a cluster of Maratha girls in a corner. They ranged in age from ten to thirteen, he estimated. All of them were naked and chained. The current members of Venandakatra's harem. Judging from their scars and bruises, and the