“Protect the princes!”
The call went out from the captains of the chariot cadre, across the ranks of the chariot company, repeated and carried forward a thousandfold. Adri heard it even above the rising thunder of the oncoming army. The unexpectedness of the enemy tactic had caught everyone by surprise, but being blind gave Adri one advantage: he relied on his other senses more than the sighted did, and his ears had warned him of the approach of the enemy long before anyone had fully comprehended what was happening. Perhaps the chariot captains had assumed the enemy forces would change direction at some point, moving into different formations or positions across the field.
But Adri had sensed the single direction and unity of those thundering hooves, wheels, and sandaled feet. They were all headed here: directly here. Every last elephant, chariot, horse, and foot soldier. Not just intending to attack in a full-frontal assault, but to surround this position completely.
By the time the Krushan chariot captains had realized what was happening, it was too late to escape—they could have retreated, but how would it appear if the leaders of the Krushan army began the battle by turning around and running away?
That was, naturally, unacceptable. So they had done the best they could, moving line upon line of chariots in a circuitous action, ringing the two white chariots occupied by Adri and his brother, protecting them by multiple ranks of Krushan chariots. By the time the first lines of the rebel forces struck their frontlines, Shvate and Adri were buried fifty chariots deep in an island of over a thousand Krushan vehicles.
But that island was fast being eroded by the ocean of enemy forces.
The rebels were not merely deploying a tactic here. Adri could tell from the mayhem and screams and shattering of wood, screaming of metal, howls of agony from animals and humans alike, that the assault was an endgame with no intention of giving quarter or allowing retreat. They meant to get to him and Shvate today, here on this field, within the next few hours. And to snuff out their lives like one of the elephants pounding the skull of an unfortunate Krushan charioteer fifty yards away.
When one has not the benefit of sight, hearing becomes a form of seeing. Adri’s preternaturally alert senses, already honed by his time in the jungle, were sharpened and heightened by the mortal peril of battle. He could make out individual sounds and events in the cacophonous melee that enabled him to know things that no sighted person could observe through vision alone.
There, seven hundred yards east: a horde of armored elephants smashing through a line of Krushan chariots, demolishing chariots and horses and charioteers altogether. Elephants were wounded, injured, impaled, pierced, and killed, their screams provoking their fellow gaja to panic and stampede with even greater ferocity.
Five hundred yards west: several dozen wooden wagons ramming into the Krushan chariots. The wagons laden with pots of oil. As they smashed against the wall of Krushan chariots, the pots broke open, spilling oil everywhere. From the far side of the hill, rebel archers loosed burning arrows that went high, arched, and fell, igniting the oil. Krushan charioteers and horses went up in a blaze of fiery torture. Barely had the fires died down, and a company of rebel chariots were already rolling downhill to smash through the smoking debris and finish the job.
Behind his right shoulder, four hundred yards northeast: an entire battalion of cavalry attacking the chariot wall with every weapon at their disposal. The brave Krushan charioteers were fighting back furiously, but the sheer weight of numbers worked against them. Their numbers were reducing by the hundredfold while the enemy could afford to lose twice as many and still have enough left to keep attacking all day.
All around him, swirling like a miasma, the screaming chaos of an unequal battle.
Krushan forces all across the Krushan lines were converging here, attempting to support their besieged chariot company and rescue the princes. But the enemy’s action had been too swift and unlawful to have been predicted or countered in time. Even now, to engage the enemy, the Krushan army too would have to forgo the rules of war.
But that was not possible. The rebels were already at fault for defying the might of the Burnt Empire. If Krushan armies also started breaking the law, then the empire would lose all respect in the eyes of its other allies. No matter how the battle proceeded, Hastinaga must abide by Krushan law and restrict their actions to the permissible limits, lest Hastinaga lose all respect among the Krushan people and thus sow the seeds of their own undoing.
That meant only pitting like against like: elephant against elephant, foot soldier against foot soldier. Which was a tall order since the rebels had smartly spread their foot soldiers around the periphery of their circle. This meant that by rule of war, Krushan elephants and cavalry could not attack that outer circle directly. Even now, Krushan foot soldiers were battling the rebel foot soldiers, trying to break through, and by concentrating on driving wedges through certain points, the Krushan generals were succeeding in making inroads. But that outer circle was almost a mile away, and by the time they broke through and sent the heavier cadres into the fray, it would be much too late.
Adri estimated that it would take perhaps several hours for the rebels to reach him and Shvate and engage them directly. But due to his lack of experience in battle, he couldn’t be sure; they could break through in as few as four or five hours for all he really knew. This battle could easily be over before the sun reached its zenith.
He was surprised to find that he himself was not as panicked or scared as he ought to have been. If anything, the sheer odds confronting him and his fellow Krushan made him feel angry. A surge of self-righteous rage was building inside him. Who were these rebels to resort to such low tactics? How dare they stoop to such means? Even if they succeeded, did they really think the world would cheer their victory?
He was, of course, too young and immature to understand that history favors only the victors. Once the rebels won the day, they would be joined by other disgruntled allies of Hastinaga. The rebellion would grow into a nationwide—perhaps even worldwide—phenomenon. With Vrath gone, and the only two heirs to the empire dead, there would be no line of succession left in Hastinaga. Chaos would erupt across the length and breadth of the empire. Pocket rebellions would occur. Allies would fight allies. Everyone would tear the Burnt Empire to shreds, and feast on the remains. And in a hundred years, the Krushan dynasty—Vrath, Shvate, Adri himself . . . all would be half-forgotten names, tragic footnotes in history.
Adri could not see that far ahead. He could only view the events of the present hour. And those events were both terrifying and soul-crushing, but also so desperate that taking any action, no matter how brash, seemed preferable to merely standing there in a chariot and waiting to die.
“Shvate,” he said.
He had to repeat himself twice more, raising his voice the third time to be heard. Shvate was enraptured by the horror of the battle raging around them, visible only in violent glimpses but shocking enough to have hypnotized him into rapt fascination. Adri could sense Shvate’s own fear and rising anger, the suppressed frustration and outrage he shared with Adri. Neither of them had actually expected to have to fight that day. Both had feared the prospect but had not seriously believed they would be under any real threat. That situation had changed abruptly, shockingly. The person they had assumed would lead and win the battle on his own was no longer here by their side to protect or advise them. They were now left to their own devices, with only each other to turn to.
“Brother,” Adri cried out, his deep tenor voice loud and commanding.
Shvate turned to gape at his brother. “Adri?”
Adri held out his hand, reaching toward Shvate. “Brother, are we Krushan or are we cowards?”
Adri heard Shvate’s sharp intake of breath, the moment of stunned silence, then the slow release of breath that told him Shvate was smiling.
He felt Shvate’s hand grasp his own, squeezing it in response.
“We are Krushan!” Shvate shouted back in answer.
“Good,” Adri said in a normal voice. He smiled in Shvate’s direction. “Then let’s show them who we are.”