“Krushan!”
The battle cry tore loose from the throats of the two young princes. The cry applied equally to children of Krushan of any gender, but in this particular case, it was used to mean, literally, “Sons of Krushan!” Shouted by both Shvate and Adri together, at first it was noted only by the Krushan charioteers. They turned their astonished heads to see the two young princes raising their voices—and their swords.
It was a miserable morning for the charioteers of Hastinaga. What should have been a battle with a foregone conclusion had turned out instead to be an unwinnable fight. The enemy’s unlawful violation of the rules of war and their cowardly tactic had turned the balance against the Krushan. The sheer mass and speed with which the rebels had attacked the Krushan chariot lines was unheard of. No one could have anticipated such a move. To start a battle with such skullduggery! But any outrage had been swiftly replaced by dismay, then alarm, then outright panic as the odds mounted against the charioteers.
Now, barely an hour into the battle, the sun only a hand’s breadth above the eastern horizon, the brave charioteers were already facing not just their own imminent deaths, but also imminent total defeat. Both of these ignominious outcomes were galling, but the knowledge that the heirs of Hastinaga would be killed also was unbearable. So long as there was even a single Krushan charioteer alive and standing, they would fight the enemy tooth and nail.
The princes must not die.
The rebels would win this day, but they would pay a price for that victory. The captains had sent out the word: ten for one. That meant simply, kill ten enemies for every single Krushan felled.
And that was what they were doing until that moment: selling their lives dearly. Fighting with whatever they could, using every means at their disposal, against impossible odds, to make the enemy pay as expensive a price as possible to achieve their goal. The charioteers of Krushan had fallen into a fighting spell, a hypnotic state wherein all they saw was the enemy and all they sought was the means to kill that enemy. The world fell away and reduced to that narrow purpose. Even the fantastic battle raging in the sky between Vrath and the Reygistani Jarsun was only an occasional distraction. They could do nothing to help their prince regent. And for once, Vrath could do nothing to help them. They were each fighting their own battles.
“Krushan!”
The sound of the princes’ battle cry had startled the charioteers out of their collective reverie, waking up a part of their minds that had shut down in anticipation of the looming defeat.
“Krushan!”
Prince Shvate and Prince Adri shouted again, their young eager voices a stark contrast to the gruff older voices of the other charioteers.
The charioteers turned and paid heed to their princes.
“Krushan!” the charioteers cried in chorus with their lieges.
Prince Adri and Prince Shvate were standing on the rims of the wells of their chariots, each with a hand on the flagpole that carried their house colors. They were waving to attract their fellow Krushan’s attention.
Now that they had that attention, they delivered their message. It was a single-word order, yelled with the same furious youthful intensity as the battle cry.
“Attack!”
Both princes pointed in the same direction.
The charioteers turned their heads to look—
And saw their opportunity at once. Every charioteer’s nightmare is to be stuck and rendered immobile, whether by an obstruction, a broken wheel, a dead horse, or by the worst of all calamities: a chakra—a ring of enemies so dense that even the most skilled of Krushan charioteers could not find a way to break through.
They found themselves in the midst of the worst chakra imaginable right now. Ringed in on every side by layers upon layers of enemy forces—not merely chariots, but also cavalry, foot, and even elephants. It was impossible to escape such a chakra, and even if they could, they had had their hands full until now merely surviving and protecting their princes, which meant creating a chakra of their own, circling their own chariots to prevent enemies from reaching their lieges—but at the same time preventing themselves from breaking out.
But now Shvate and Adri were pointing to something that every charioteer recognized instantly.
The place where the wagons had breached the Krushan wall of chariots was a scorched patch of earth. Because of the fire and hot ashes, the enemy was tactically restricted. Elephants and mounted horses might panic at the smell of fire and cause havoc. Foot soldiers would be useless too. Only chariot teams could brave that fiery breach and attack the Krushan lines. So they had sent chariots through, many of whom were still there, fighting and killing more Krushan on every side.
But chariots moved . . . which left a gap in the wall.
Yes, there was a vulnerability in the chakra at that place. Not a very great weakness—and one that the enemy could fill in a moment once their leader entered the breach with more chariots—but for the moment, the spot was weak, and the opportunity was there for the taking. And the two princes had spotted it and were calling to their army to act.
And the charioteers of Krushan did.