The Oath of the Vayuputras
Page 99
‘My Lady!’ screamed Nandi, pulling his shield forward to protect himself from another assassin’s blow. ‘Run!’
The world had slowed around her, and his voice came to her as if from a great distance. She could hear her own heart beating; hear her breath gasping as she gazed at the carnage. The bodies of her guards lay bloodied and broken at her feet. Some of the fallen still lived, reaching and clawing at the legs of the attackers in desperation, until they were kicked aside in annoyance, their lives finished with half-distracted sword-strokes of irritation.
My arrogance, a voice whispered in her head. I have failed them. Again.
Her brain had blocked out the throbbing in her mutilated eye. She spat out the blood streaking down her face and into her mouth. Using her good right eye, she swung back into battle. Stepping back to avoid a brutal stab from another assassin, she slashed her sword from the right and sliced through his hand. As the Egyptian howled in pain, Sati rammed her shield into his head, cracking open his skull. She stabbed the staggering assassin in his eye, pulled her sword back quickly and turned to face another.
The assassin flung a knife across the distance. It cut through Sati’s upper left arm, getting stuck in her biceps, restricting the movement of her defensive limb. Sati snarled in fury and swung her sword viciously across the assassin’s body, cutting through the cloak and slashing deep into his chest. As the man staggered back, Sati delivered the killer blow, a stab straight through his heart. But the flow of assassins was unrelenting. Another one ran in to battle Sati. Using sheer will to overpower her tiring body, Sati raised her blood-drenched sword once again.
Swuth was observing the battle from a short distance away. His orders had been to ensure the death of the one they called Neelkanth. Surely he was the tall one, the powerful warrior, cutting down all his opponents with such ease. Swuth moved into the fray, striding towards the embattled Nandi.
Nandi looked up and turned to face his new opponent, swinging his sword fiercely at Swuth’s blade. The Egyptian stepped back, his hand stinging with the force of Nandi’s blow. Swuth dropped his sword and drew out two curved blades, something he kept for special occasions. Nandi had never seen swords such as these. They were short, a little less than two-thirds the length of his own sword. They curved in sharply at their edges, almost like hooks. The hilts of the swords were also peculiar, since most of it was made of uncovered metal, instead of being enveloped in leather or wood. A sword fighter would have to be very skilled not to cut himself while holding such swords, for the handles were also unsheathed sharp metal.
Swuth was no amateur. He swung both swords in a circular motion skilfully and with frightening speed. Nandi, never having seen swords and a battle style such as this, was naturally cautious and kept his shield held high. He waited for the Egyptian to move in, while keeping a safe distance at the same time. Using the attention that Nandi had focused on Swuth, and Sati’s distraction with battling the assassin on her side, an Egyptian moved in suddenly and slashed Nandi’s back viciously with his sword. Nandi roared with fury as his body lurched forward in reaction to the excruciatingly painful wound.
Swuth used this moment to suddenly hook his left sword onto his right blade, thus extending its reach two-fold, and swung hard from a low angle, aiming a little below Nandi’s defensive shield. The sharp edge on the metallic hilt sliced through Nandi’s left arm, severing it cleanly, a few inches above his wrist. The Suryavanshi bellowed in pain as blood burst from his slashed limb, the shock of the massive blow causing his heart to pump furiously. Swuth stepped close to a paralysed Nandi and slashed at his right arm, hacking the sword-bearing limb just below the elbow. The mighty Suryavanshi, with blood bursting forth from both his severed limbs, collapsed on the ground. Swuth spat as he kicked both of Nandi’s hacked hands away.
‘Damn!’ cursed Swuth as he wiped some of his spittle that had got stuck on the Naga mask that he wasn’t used to wearing. But he was careful enough to curse in Sanskrit. He had strictly forbidden his people from speaking in their native Egyptian tongue. The charade of their being Nagas had to be strictly maintained.
‘Nandi!’ screamed Sati, as she swirled around and thrust her sword at Swuth.
Swuth moved aside, easily avoiding her attack. Another assassin swung his sword from behind Sati, cutting through her upper back and left shoulder.
‘Wait!’ said Swuth, as two of his men were about to plunge their swords into her heart.
The assassins immediately held Sati’s arms, awaiting Swuth’s instructions. The leader did not want to sully his tongue by speaking to a woman; a sex that he believed was far beneath men, only a little better than animals.
‘Ask her who the blue-throated Lord is.’
One of his assistants looked at Sati and repeated Swuth’s question.
A shocked Sati did not hear them. She continued to stare at Nandi, lying prone on the ground, losing blood at an alarming rate from his severed limbs. But the unconscious Suryavanshi was still breathing. She knew that since the wounds were only on the limbs, the blood loss would not be so severe as to cause immediate death. If she managed to keep him alive for some more time, expert medical help could still save him.
‘Is this the blue-throated Lord?’ asked Swuth, pointing at Nandi.
Swuth’s assistant repeated his question to Sati. But Sati was looking towards the gates of Devagiri from the corner of her eye. She could see people at the top of the platform running towards her. They would probably reach in another ten to fifteen minutes. She had to keep Nandi alive for that much time.
Swuth shook his head when he did not get any response from Sati. ‘A curse of Aten on these stupid baby-producing machines!’
Sati stared at Swuth, catching on to his mistake in swearing in his own God’s name, sure at last of his identity. He was an Egyptian; an assassin of the cult of Aten. She had learnt about their culture in her youth. She knew immediately what she had to do.
Swuth pointed at Nandi and turned to his men. ‘Behead this fat giant. He must be the blue-throated Lord. Leave the other injured alive. They will bear witness that they were attacked by the Nagas. And collect our dead. We’ll leave immediately.’
‘He’s not the blue-throated one,’ spat Sati. ‘Can’t you see his neck, you Egyptian idiot?’
The Egyptian holding Sati hit her hard across her face.
Swuth sniggered.
‘Leave the giant alive,’ said Swuth, before turning to one of his fighters. ‘Qa’a, torture this hag before you kill her.’
‘With pleasure, My Lord,’ smiled Qa’a, who was not the best of assassins, but an expert in the fine art of torture.
Swuth turned to his other men. ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself, you putrid remains of a camel’s dung? Start gathering our dead. We leave in a few moments.’
As Swuth’s assassins started implementing his order, Qa’a moved towards Sati, returning his blood-streaked sword to its scabbard. He then pulled out a knife. A smaller blade always made torture much easier.
Sati suddenly straightened up and shouted loudly, ‘The duel of Aten!’
Qa’a stopped in his tracks, stunned. Swuth stared at Sati, surprised beyond measure. The duel of Aten was an ancient code of the Egyptian assassins, wherein anyone could challenge them to a duel. They were honour-bound to engage in the duel. It could only be a one-on-one fight; multiple assassins could not attack or they would suffer the wrath of their fiery Sun God – an everlasting curse from Aten.
The world had slowed around her, and his voice came to her as if from a great distance. She could hear her own heart beating; hear her breath gasping as she gazed at the carnage. The bodies of her guards lay bloodied and broken at her feet. Some of the fallen still lived, reaching and clawing at the legs of the attackers in desperation, until they were kicked aside in annoyance, their lives finished with half-distracted sword-strokes of irritation.
My arrogance, a voice whispered in her head. I have failed them. Again.
Her brain had blocked out the throbbing in her mutilated eye. She spat out the blood streaking down her face and into her mouth. Using her good right eye, she swung back into battle. Stepping back to avoid a brutal stab from another assassin, she slashed her sword from the right and sliced through his hand. As the Egyptian howled in pain, Sati rammed her shield into his head, cracking open his skull. She stabbed the staggering assassin in his eye, pulled her sword back quickly and turned to face another.
The assassin flung a knife across the distance. It cut through Sati’s upper left arm, getting stuck in her biceps, restricting the movement of her defensive limb. Sati snarled in fury and swung her sword viciously across the assassin’s body, cutting through the cloak and slashing deep into his chest. As the man staggered back, Sati delivered the killer blow, a stab straight through his heart. But the flow of assassins was unrelenting. Another one ran in to battle Sati. Using sheer will to overpower her tiring body, Sati raised her blood-drenched sword once again.
Swuth was observing the battle from a short distance away. His orders had been to ensure the death of the one they called Neelkanth. Surely he was the tall one, the powerful warrior, cutting down all his opponents with such ease. Swuth moved into the fray, striding towards the embattled Nandi.
Nandi looked up and turned to face his new opponent, swinging his sword fiercely at Swuth’s blade. The Egyptian stepped back, his hand stinging with the force of Nandi’s blow. Swuth dropped his sword and drew out two curved blades, something he kept for special occasions. Nandi had never seen swords such as these. They were short, a little less than two-thirds the length of his own sword. They curved in sharply at their edges, almost like hooks. The hilts of the swords were also peculiar, since most of it was made of uncovered metal, instead of being enveloped in leather or wood. A sword fighter would have to be very skilled not to cut himself while holding such swords, for the handles were also unsheathed sharp metal.
Swuth was no amateur. He swung both swords in a circular motion skilfully and with frightening speed. Nandi, never having seen swords and a battle style such as this, was naturally cautious and kept his shield held high. He waited for the Egyptian to move in, while keeping a safe distance at the same time. Using the attention that Nandi had focused on Swuth, and Sati’s distraction with battling the assassin on her side, an Egyptian moved in suddenly and slashed Nandi’s back viciously with his sword. Nandi roared with fury as his body lurched forward in reaction to the excruciatingly painful wound.
Swuth used this moment to suddenly hook his left sword onto his right blade, thus extending its reach two-fold, and swung hard from a low angle, aiming a little below Nandi’s defensive shield. The sharp edge on the metallic hilt sliced through Nandi’s left arm, severing it cleanly, a few inches above his wrist. The Suryavanshi bellowed in pain as blood burst from his slashed limb, the shock of the massive blow causing his heart to pump furiously. Swuth stepped close to a paralysed Nandi and slashed at his right arm, hacking the sword-bearing limb just below the elbow. The mighty Suryavanshi, with blood bursting forth from both his severed limbs, collapsed on the ground. Swuth spat as he kicked both of Nandi’s hacked hands away.
‘Damn!’ cursed Swuth as he wiped some of his spittle that had got stuck on the Naga mask that he wasn’t used to wearing. But he was careful enough to curse in Sanskrit. He had strictly forbidden his people from speaking in their native Egyptian tongue. The charade of their being Nagas had to be strictly maintained.
‘Nandi!’ screamed Sati, as she swirled around and thrust her sword at Swuth.
Swuth moved aside, easily avoiding her attack. Another assassin swung his sword from behind Sati, cutting through her upper back and left shoulder.
‘Wait!’ said Swuth, as two of his men were about to plunge their swords into her heart.
The assassins immediately held Sati’s arms, awaiting Swuth’s instructions. The leader did not want to sully his tongue by speaking to a woman; a sex that he believed was far beneath men, only a little better than animals.
‘Ask her who the blue-throated Lord is.’
One of his assistants looked at Sati and repeated Swuth’s question.
A shocked Sati did not hear them. She continued to stare at Nandi, lying prone on the ground, losing blood at an alarming rate from his severed limbs. But the unconscious Suryavanshi was still breathing. She knew that since the wounds were only on the limbs, the blood loss would not be so severe as to cause immediate death. If she managed to keep him alive for some more time, expert medical help could still save him.
‘Is this the blue-throated Lord?’ asked Swuth, pointing at Nandi.
Swuth’s assistant repeated his question to Sati. But Sati was looking towards the gates of Devagiri from the corner of her eye. She could see people at the top of the platform running towards her. They would probably reach in another ten to fifteen minutes. She had to keep Nandi alive for that much time.
Swuth shook his head when he did not get any response from Sati. ‘A curse of Aten on these stupid baby-producing machines!’
Sati stared at Swuth, catching on to his mistake in swearing in his own God’s name, sure at last of his identity. He was an Egyptian; an assassin of the cult of Aten. She had learnt about their culture in her youth. She knew immediately what she had to do.
Swuth pointed at Nandi and turned to his men. ‘Behead this fat giant. He must be the blue-throated Lord. Leave the other injured alive. They will bear witness that they were attacked by the Nagas. And collect our dead. We’ll leave immediately.’
‘He’s not the blue-throated one,’ spat Sati. ‘Can’t you see his neck, you Egyptian idiot?’
The Egyptian holding Sati hit her hard across her face.
Swuth sniggered.
‘Leave the giant alive,’ said Swuth, before turning to one of his fighters. ‘Qa’a, torture this hag before you kill her.’
‘With pleasure, My Lord,’ smiled Qa’a, who was not the best of assassins, but an expert in the fine art of torture.
Swuth turned to his other men. ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself, you putrid remains of a camel’s dung? Start gathering our dead. We leave in a few moments.’
As Swuth’s assassins started implementing his order, Qa’a moved towards Sati, returning his blood-streaked sword to its scabbard. He then pulled out a knife. A smaller blade always made torture much easier.
Sati suddenly straightened up and shouted loudly, ‘The duel of Aten!’
Qa’a stopped in his tracks, stunned. Swuth stared at Sati, surprised beyond measure. The duel of Aten was an ancient code of the Egyptian assassins, wherein anyone could challenge them to a duel. They were honour-bound to engage in the duel. It could only be a one-on-one fight; multiple assassins could not attack or they would suffer the wrath of their fiery Sun God – an everlasting curse from Aten.
