From: Orosius Devinius, commander, 6th Cohort, Germalla Cavalry
To: Prefect in command, forward scout station, Chara Gorge
Sir, my unit and I are engaged upon a special mission in the mountains. Being aware of the broad dangers posed by the region and the specific peril of my task, I request that you keep this message for a period of twenty-four days, and if my unit and I have not returned to your station by that time, please forward it to General Flavius Cinna at Jalnapur.
Dev hauled on the reins, nerves beginning to twitch.
‘That must be it.’
The cohort’s captain nodded his agreement silently. Ahead, the valley they had been following narrowed between two rocky spurs that stood tall and powerful, twin sentinels set by the gods to guard an important place. Atop each spur they could see a ruin – a small tower, stone tumbled from the top, crenellations gone, holes in the walls. Testament to the once powerful rulers of this land in days long gone, when the mountains had still been the territory of rajahs, before the horse lord raids began and the bandits claimed the region.
Behind those twin peaks the valley disappeared east into the brown dusty mountains, deep enough that the bottom of the gorge was hidden in shadow even in the early afternoon. It was, Dev had to admit, the perfect hiding place for a bandit.
Everything he had heard of the Sizhad had increased Dev’s concerns over this mission.
They had travelled north and east for many days, entering the mountainous region carefully and keeping to the more populated areas to begin with. Dev had approached each Inda settlement pacifically, leaving his cohort out of sight on the road, and taking only the captain and half a dozen men with him. At first the locals had been reluctant to speak to Dev, despite his clear Inda origins, because of the imperial threat he represented. It had taken much cajoling, and occasional threats, to learn anything. As they followed the trail of hints and clues north-east, though, the attitude changed. Not the reluctance, of course, but at least the reason for it. The further into the region they travelled and the closer to their quarry they came, the more fear and respect they encountered for the Sizhad. People became unhappy discussing him not because the questioner was imperial, but because of the potential consequences from the bandits themselves.
But slowly they had found their way to this place, and now Dev felt reluctant to enter, and not just because of the danger that valley posed, though that was very much a concern. Clearly, from what the region’s inhabitants had intimated, the Sizhad had a sizeable army of fanatically loyal warriors that seriously outnumbered Dev’s.
Fanatics. That worried Dev, and from the look on the man’s face, it was of equal concern to the cohort’s captain.
‘What do you know of these sun worshippers?’ the captain said.
Dev sighed. ‘Not a great deal. They are an uncommon sect who have shunned the traditional gods of the Inda in favour of the sun itself. They’ve been around for over a hundred years, but they’ve always been a mysterious and private bunch. They tend to live in the wilderness and avoid contact with the towns of the Inda, in some sort of self-imposed exile. Why, I couldn’t tell you, but they’ve always been considered a peaceful, if odd, bunch. I’ve never even heard of a sun worshipper taking up arms, let alone forming an army. It is so strange that I really don’t know what to expect from this, but I recommend keeping your religious views to yourself and not mentioning the sun or the gods in this conversation. Same goes for your men. Let’s not provoke anything if we can avoid it.
‘I think I would rather be in Jalnapur getting the shit kicked out of me by the Jade Empire,’ the captain said with feeling.
‘I know what you mean. Come on. Let’s get it over with.’
As the captain signalled to the cohort and the riders began to move forward, Dev rode at the front with the officer, both sitting high and proud in the saddle as befitted imperial officers. Those twin sentinels with their broken stone fangs closed on either side, reaching to the sky, and in a quarter of an hour they passed from the bright sunshine into the deep shade of the valley. At least the weather was holding here. Word was that the monsoons had begun further south in the lowlands, and the rains would be dreadful for the general and his forces. It would be weeks before the weather changed here in the mountains, and even then it would be a pale shadow of the storms further south.
Dev blinked in the relative gloom, allowing his eyes to adjust to the change. The defile snaked through the peaks. He could see the mountains rising to the east, mapping in his head the shape of the valley. The captain looked at him quizzically.
‘You’ve been here before, sir?’
Dev shook his head. ‘I’ve never been within fifty miles of this place. The villages on the lower slopes I was familiar with, but no sensible rajah or his men came this far north. Too dangerous. There has been no authority but the bandit chiefs in these mountains for a hundred years.’
‘I hate bandits.’
Dev threw a warning glance at the officer. ‘I would be grateful if you kept sentiments like that well and truly buried for now too.’
The captain nodded, though he looked no happier. The five hundred cavalrymen closed their ranks, moving four men abreast and barely leaving breathing room between themselves and the beast in front. Tension had grown throughout the ranks on their approach to the Sizhad’s realm. Moving at a sedate, cautious pace, the cohort travelled along the shadowed base of the valley. Small stands of trees and scrubby grass filling out into shrubs and bushes represented the majority of the area’s vegetation and there was no sign of current settlement. A seasonal stream wound along the centre of the defile, though at this time of the year it was little more than brown dust and smooth rocks. There were no fields, farms or bridges, huts or shrines. The place was devoid of civilisation, though here and there on the hillsides and among the trees and bushes they spotted ruins that suggested this place had been a rajah’s pride once, many years ago, before the bandit chiefs rose.
Dev shivered and stroked his horse’s mane, opening his mouth to speak to the captain and shutting it again in surprise.
The Sizhad’s men were suddenly everywhere.
Dev was impressed even through the shock as his horse reared and he fought to control the reins. The captain, beside him, was in similar trouble, and the entire column had halted, panicked, urgent voices ripping through the strangely silent valley.
They must have been secreted among the trees and rocks and within the ruins. At some unheard signal they had risen from their hiding places as one. They were all in white and pale beige with white turbans. Some held spears, others swords, but most had bows with an arrow already nocked and the string drawn back to the chin. And there were so many of them.
It took him a moment to realise that the captain was telling his men to stand down, and Dev turned as his horse finally reluctantly settled, to see that a number of the cohort had drawn their swords.
‘No,’ he bellowed, echoing the captain’s own commands. ‘Sheathe your blades. We’re here to talk. We want them as allies.’ Although, in that moment, he was not sure how much he really wanted them at all.
A man stepped out onto the road, his apparel identical to the rest and yet somehow carrying an air of authority. He faced Dev and the captain and folded his arms. Dev looked him up and down. The man showed no fear at the approach of a cohort of imperial cavalry, but then why would he? He had several hundred warriors himself, and many of those would be able to pin two men apiece with arrows before they had to consider a blade.
Dev and his men had walked into the lion’s den, and the truth of that suddenly insisted itself upon him as he looked into those eyes and saw not only a lack of fear or concern, but a worrying mix of disdain and unshakable faith.
‘Please stand your men down,’ Dev said to the man in a good northern Inda dialect, slightly tempered by many years of imperial living. Behind him the cohort were once more sheathing their weapons and settling their horses. ‘We have come in peace to discuss matters of great importance with the Sizhad.’
The man in white cocked an eyebrow slightly, though whether it was at those words or the accent in which they were delivered, Dev could not tell. He remained still, arms folded, silent.
‘I am an envoy of General Flavius Cinna, carrying the authority of the emperor Bassianus.’
Still the man said nothing, but something about his silence and his stance told Dev everything he needed to know about the man’s opinion of his mission.
‘Will the Sizhad see us?’ he prompted, rapidly coming to the conclusion that this had been a mistake and that it might be better to cut their losses now and turn away. There was a long silence and, just as Dev was about to announce his intention to do just that, the man spoke.
‘You and your men will surrender your weapons if you wish to travel any further.’
Dev turned to the captain, who shrugged, though his expression showed his reluctance. Dev sighed. One of the advantages of the empire was that the organisation and discipline kept things running smoothly. A disadvantage was that to keep up such discipline meant complete obedience. Dev could not imagine approaching General Cinna without even trying to complete his mission. But there was no advantage to endangering everyone when he did not have to. He turned to the men and singled out the second officer a few ranks back, speaking to him in the imperial tongue in the hope it would go over the locals’ heads.
‘Take four files of men back to the nearest imperial station. Wait there for ten days, and then if we do not return, ride for the war zone. The rest of you, unsheathe your swords and daggers and throw them to the ground.’
As some four hundred riders turned and began to trot their horses back west with a tangible air of relief, the other hundred dropped their blades. Dev and the captain reluctantly added their weapons to the collection. Not one of the Sizhad’s men lowered sword, spear or bow.
‘Come,’ the leader said, and turned. His men remained where they were, but the leader began to stride away up the valley with a purposeful gait, his white turban trailing two silk streamers of gold. Dev and the captain shared a look, shrugged, and began to walk their horses on after the man. The remaining cavalry joined the column, and slowly they moved deeper into the valley.
It was a long ride. Three hours they walked their horses in silence as the man strode ahead, never breaking pace. The valley narrowed gradually and twisted this way and that, as Dev had anticipated from the view of the peaks ahead. The pickets who had ambushed them had not followed along but, though they had appeared to be alone with the white-clad man as they moved along the valley, the ever-present threat hovered in the air, prickling Dev’s skin, and he felt certain that if he made one hostile move, the valley sides would suddenly erupt with white figures intent on bloodshed. And so they walked their horses steadily in the company of the white-clad leader, peacefully, unarmed and in silence.
Finally, as the light began to change, suggesting that the sun they had not seen for hours in the deep valley was now descending towards the western peaks, they turned a corner, and Dev’s breath caught in his throat.
Arrayed before him was an army on a massive scale.
He had not been sure what to expect of the Sizhad and his force. The bandit chiefs were portrayed as uncultured rabble in the tales of the rajahs of old, and though this one had become the greatest of all of them, Dev had still expected roughness. He knew that the man had managed to gather a sizeable force – that, after all, was why they were here – but he’d had simply no idea how sizeable.
This place had once been a sacred site. The valley opened out into a huge wide bowl, with a flattened hill at the centre, wide enough that the centre and the eastern end were still bathed in bright sunlight. A lake sat gleaming at that side, fed by a glittering cascade from the mountains and granting fresh water to the entire place. The huge circular depression was one giant military camp full of tents and small cabins, camp fires and supply stores, and everywhere were white pennants bearing a golden sun design. Dev had never commanded an army, but he had served in one and had made a short career out of evaluating the value of military installations on the empire’s fringe. What he saw made him break into a cold sweat.
There were over a hundred thousand men here if there were a dozen. Corrals of horses suggested cavalry. He could see several archery ranges. There were small areas given over to the construction of machines of war. This was no bandit king. Such a title could clearly not be applied to the Sizhad. This was an army, ready for war.
At the centre of the huge bowl, that flattened hill bore a structure that had been a temple to the Inda gods. Dev could see the four towers that had stood at each corner. They had once borne the likenesses of the war gods. Now each bore yet another white and gold sun flag. The great, monumental and decorative temple of red stone and white marble in the centre had a huge ornate portal over which hung that same banner.
‘I hate zealots,’ the captain said under his breath, and Dev shot him yet another warning look. The party was escorted down to the camp at that same sedate pace, allowing plenty of time to drink in the impressive strength and unity of the force around them. They passed beneath the scrutiny of the Sizhad’s men and Dev felt once again not an iota of worry or respect from even the lowliest spear man, just disdain and conviction. The very idea of that sort of faith instilled in this kind of army made Dev shiver.
Some of the men hawked and spat as they passed, not quite hitting the visitors, but coming close enough to display how little fear and esteem there was in this place for the empire. Dev tried to steady his nerves as they rode through the seemingly endless ranks of the Sizhad’s army. Finally, they ascended that low hill, passed through a gate in an outer boundary wall, and approached the great doors of the former temple.
‘You two,’ the white-clad officer said, pointing at Dev and the captain and beckoning.
Dev nodded and turned to the nervous-looking horsemen behind him. ‘Stay here and do nothing. I am about to attempt negotiations and I want no unpleasant incidents out here impacting on that.’
The four file officers saluted, and the fifth of a cohort of men settled in as Dev and the captain dismounted, paced around for a moment to exercise sore muscles, stretched, and then followed the white-garbed man into the doorway.
The building had once been a glittering, wondrous homage to the Inda gods, but now the intricate wall designs had gone, whitewashed so that the entire building was gleaming monochrome. The temple was of a familiar design, for all its grand scale and recent changes. Square, it contained a wide internal courtyard, each side housing several chapels and shrines, now all stripped bare, whitewashed and repurposed as storage places. The two men were led through the building and into the courtyard.
The great square was flagged with white marble, and due to the size of this wide valley, the height of the mound upon which the temple sat, and the design of the building itself, the sun still reached almost half the courtyard. The two visitors blinked again, having to let their eyesight adjust once more.
The Sizhad was also not what Dev had expected. Despite the strange uniformity of the army he had seen in the great valley stronghold, somehow Dev had still expected a grand prince or hulking warrior. Either dripping with jewels and gold like the powerful rajahs of old, or armoured and dressed in leathers and furs like a mountain man. The Sizhad was neither. He was dressed in the same simple white clothes as every man in his army. Unlike the others, though, the Sizhad’s turban was not white, but yellow, as he sat cross-legged on a small mat at the centre of the courtyard with his head down. He looked humble. Young. Peaceful.
‘Why have you come?’ the man asked quietly. His face was lowered. In prayer? Dev wondered.
‘I have come as the representative of Bassianus, Emperor of the West, and his esteemed general, Flavius Cinna, who currently fights a war to drive the Jade Empire from the Inda Diamond.’
‘Sit,’ replied the Sizhad, gesturing to the white marble flags before him, gleaming in the sun. Dev did so, uncomfortably. The stone was sizzling hot to the touch and he could immediately feel his trousers and boots warming. The captain remained standing off to the side. Good. This might go better Inda to Inda.
Then the Sizhad looked up and Dev’s world broke asunder.
‘Ravi?’
The great bandit chief and fanatic, master of countless thousands and ruler of the mountains, gave Dev a sad smile. ‘Ravi is gone. Ravi died long ago.’
Dev stared at his youngest brother. It had been too many years, and Ravi had been so young when Dev had left, but he would know him anywhere. He still had the three marks by which Dev would always recognise him. The slightly cleft lip where he had fallen and ripped his mouth on a table corner as an infant. The scar above his brow, between the eyes, where Dev had hit him with a sharp stick when they had been playing a game of warriors and heroes as boys. And most telling of all, the mismatched eyes, one green, one brown. It was Ravi and there was no denying it.
A thrill of possibility ran through Dev. There was a chance. A real chance.
‘Ravi, we need your help. We can save the Inda. Drive out the Jade Empire. But we cannot do it without your aid. Join us. Bring your men to war and we can save the Inda, Ravi.’
His brother’s face remained impassive, and in one glance at his eyes, Dev knew he would fail. This was his brother, all right, but it was not the same Ravi he had left in Initpur all those years ago.
‘The Inda cannot be saved, Dev.’
‘They can,’ Dev replied urgently, hopefully.
‘No, they cannot. The Inda are dying. Their time has passed. The world of old gods is fading.’
‘Is this your new sun worship talking, Ravi? Don’t you understand? This is more important than a simple cult.’
Something terrifying flashed through the Sizhad’s eyes, and Dev recoiled at the sight.
‘Do not insult what you do not understand, Dev. Any other man who sat there and said such a thing to me would be burning by sunset for his impiety. I spare you for the sake of our father and what we have shared, but do not push me.’
‘Ravi, what happened to you?’
‘I told you. Ravi is dead. Ravi, son of Aram, died years ago. He survived Jai being taken. And he survived you leaving, though you broke his heart. But when his mother died and took his sister with her, he knew then that the Inda were doomed. Those false gods we trusted smiled at us as they took our loved ones, our heritage, our world. For a time, I was lost. I said farewell to our father, who would decline along with the Inda, and went to join a monastery.’
‘Our father—’ began Dev, but the Sizhad was still speaking.
‘I thought to understand the gods and why they seemed to hate those who worshipped them. The great teachers among the monks sought to enlighten me, and they succeeded. I realised, despite their own beliefs, that what we worshipped were not gods, but demons. We had been tricked at the dawn of our civilisation and had been paying tribute to demons, who kept us safe as long as we were useful to them. But then the empires rose to either side of the Inda and we became diminished. So those demons stopped preserving us and instead began to nurture those two great empires.’
‘Ravi, you cannot believe—’
‘Do not tell me what to believe, Dev. I have seen the truth. I left the monastery and wandered. I found peace and understanding in the hills with a holy man who opened my eyes to the sun. Where the old gods atrophy and decay like the demons they are, the sun remains strong and powerful. He gives light and life and dispels the darkness in our lives. He is constant and pure. And he can take the life of the wicked as easily as he gives life to the worthy.’
‘Horseshit,’ huffed the captain standing nearby, and Dev shot a glance up at the man. He was too late. The Sizhad barely nodded and an arrow arched out from somewhere in the shadows and slammed into the captain’s calf, sending him hurtling to the floor with a squawk.
‘I owe you no such considerations as I owe my brother,’ the Sizhad said in a cold voice. Dev made to move, but realised immediately that he could do nothing here, given the sheer power exuded by the master of this place. The captain had been insulting, despite Ravi’s earlier warning, and he would be punished. A small group of white-clad men scurried over to the writhing captain. Dev frowned. None of them were armed, and he couldn’t imagine what they planned to do. The men turned the captain so that he was lying on his back, crying out in pain as the arrow in his leg was knocked this way and that against the marble, blood pouring out with each jolt.
Dev’s blood ran cold as he watched the pained, struggling captain pinned to the sizzling marble with men holding down each limb in a tight grip. Another pair huddled around the captain’s face, and when they moved back, Dev was chilled further to see that they had used some kind of glue and dressing combination to pull open his eyelids and hold them there. The captain stared in panic, unable to do anything else. Then the two held his head tight.
The sun burned down on the captain, who tried desperately to look away. He could not. His eyes rolled around, but with his eyelids held open and his head pinned in place, no matter where he looked the sun was still there, at least in the periphery, sizzling into his retinas.
‘If you surrender to the sun and gaze up directly, this will be over quicker,’ the Sizhad said in an oddly comforting voice, but such considerations were beyond the captain now. His desperate shouts were becoming extremely distressing, and one of the men finally gagged him.
‘He will not die,’ the Sizhad said, addressing Dev now. ‘He will either come to understand the truth, or he will leave here a blind man, unable to stand against us.’
‘Torture, Ravi?’ Dev said, disgust inflecting his voice, still watching the panicked captain.
‘Enlightenment, Dev. And I keep telling you: Ravi, son of Aram, is dead.’
Dev turned to his brother. ‘Yes. I see now that you are not the Ravi I knew. He was a gentle boy. A good boy. Respectful and loving and part of a good family. Not a cold, zealous killer. Very well. Let me repeat my reason for coming here, not as an old friend and sibling, but simply as a representative of the empire.’
The Sizhad nodded and Dev forged ahead.
‘You have an army here that could turn the tide of the war. Not using it helps no one. You could support the Jade Empire, but you would only hand the world to them. Or you could ally with General Cinna, drive out the Jade Empire from Inda lands and free us all. Whether you worship the sun or the old gods, you must still see the value of saving the Inda?’
‘As I told you,’ the Sizhad replied, ‘the Inda cannot be saved. Nor can the lands of the mad western emperor, nor those of the rigid, short-sighted Jade Emperor. They all worship those same demons who ruined the Inda. And now they are doing the same to the empires. But it is all part of the plan, Dev.’
‘Plan?’
‘For the unification of the world. As the old peoples and the demons they worship battle one another and create worldwide ruin, we grow only stronger. The empires will destroy the Inda. Then they will destroy each other. And when they are too weak to protect themselves, then my army will move. We will take back the world from the demons that have destroyed it. We will remove the mad emperor and his brood and give back hope and truth to the people of his empire. And we shall rip the Jade Emperor from his throne and open the eyes of his people.’
Dev couldn’t help but glance back over to the captain at those words. He had fallen still and was issuing strangled sobs.
‘And the Inda will be no more, but only as the empires will be no more. We will all just be children of the sun, in peace and harmony forever. Do you not understand, Dev?’
‘I understand that you have gone quite mad, brother, and that you would willingly see the world burn for the love of your cult. You have the resources to save your people, yet you will not.’
A few paces away, the white-clad men were now removing the arrow from the weeping captain’s leg and binding it.
‘There is another way, Dev.’
‘Oh?’ Dev turned back to his brother. ‘And what would that be?’
‘Join us. I can teach you. Bring you understanding. You could be my brother in a new way. A powerful, sacred way.’
‘My duty is to my commander, my empire, and also to the Inda and their preservation.’
The Sizhad’s expression hardened. ‘I cannot let you go.’
A chill ran through Dev then. He hadn’t, throughout this encounter, considered that possibility.
‘What?’
‘As well as being a commander of the enemy, you have seen all there is here to see and I have described the future to you. Whether you join me or not, you must understand that you can never go back.’
‘Ravi—’
‘Ravi is dead. There is only the Sizhad. You will be detained and given time to consider my offer. The same offer will be made to each of your men. I hope they choose enlightenment and understanding and decide to join us and change the world. But if they do not I cannot allow them to return to your false general and his demons.’
Dev could think of nothing further to say, his expression blank as he rose. Three white-clad men were crossing to him now as the others helped the wounded and blinded captain to his feet, where he limped and hobbled around staring sightlessly in every direction.
‘Take them to the chamber of night. Let them consider the value of the sun.’
Dev felt the hands on his shoulders and went quietly, rather than struggling. It would avail him nothing and he would need to preserve his strength. He had to get out of here and bring word of this new and awful threat to his general.
For all this talk of the sun, the world seemed to have taken several steps into darkness.