FINALLY, WITH DOZENS OF his own soldiers lying in bloody splotches on the field, Tyrak’s anger dissipated.
He leaned over the mane of his horse, sword blade dripping blood.
He looked up at Vasurava at last.
“I accept,” he said in a voice unlike himself. “I will respect the terms of the treaty.”
He gave the command to break camp and return to Arrgodi. This order his soldiers obeyed happily, glancing back with fearful respect at the uks cart as they gathered up their implements and weapons and other materials and prepared for the journey home. Throughout their ranks, men spoke with hushed voices of the miracle they had witnessed, of the will of the stone gods, of the great hand of Vish that had protected Vasurava from Tyrak’s adharmic attack. For Vasurava’s devotion to Auma was legendary, and who else was the supreme embodiment of Auma but the stone god Vish, of whom Vasurava was a dedicated devotee? There were many who whispered that Vasurava was no less than Vish’s avatar on Arthaloka, descended to restore Auma to the earth.
By dusk, Tyrak’s battalion was riding homeward.
Vasurava and Rurka sat in the center of the empty field, scarcely able to believe what they had accomplished.
The last stragglers disappeared from sight, their passing lit by the fading saffron glow of the setting sun.
Vasurava turned to Rurka. “When we set out this morning—” He stopped.
Rurka looked at Vasurava with brimming eyes. They shone in the sunset like golden orbs. He joined his palms in humility and bowed his head.
“My lord,” he said. “Forgive me for having doubted you. I did not recognize you in this mortal guise.”
Vasurava clicked his tongue impatiently. “Come now, Rurka. You have known me since we were both boys with snotty noses. I am no avatar or amsa of Vish. I am merely a mortal man, like yourself.”
Rurka shook his head. “What I witnessed today, no mortal man could accomplish.”
Vasurava nodded. “I confess I cannot explain how or why that happened. But even so, I would credit my conviction in the power of Auma and my unwavering faith. I came here determined to convince Tyrak without resorting to violence, and I succeeded. Today’s victory is a triumph of Auma.”
Vasurava was speaking of pacifism here. Auma was also the doctrine of nonviolence, since the flow connected all living beings, making coexistence essential to the balance of life. This cooperative coexistence was central to the Mraashk faith.
Rurka shook his head, grinning. “We all believe in Auma, brother. Yet I cannot see what you did to Tyrak and his Arrgodi Marauders as merely a peaceful solution. Whatever name you give to it, brother, it was a miracle. Call it a miracle of Auma or Vish’s hand intervening. Either way, you are proven a stone god among men. Of that, there is no doubt at all.”
Vasurava smiled ruefully. “From your lips to Vish’s ears. If my sense of Auma pleases the stone gods above and helps me serve my people, so be it.” He looked around at the empty field. “And I think now that Tyrak will not come again to these parts to do his wicked work.”
Rurka made a sound of disgust. “Urrkh. The way he butchered his own men! I wish that you had killed him.”
Vasurava had taken the reins from Rurka. He clucked his tongue, driving the uks forward, starting the journey back home. “Had I done so, I would have been no better than he. Nay, Rurka. I think what transpired today was a shining example of the power of peace over the path of violence. Violence only begets more violence. Peace ends violence. Had I slain Tyrak today, his people would have had just cause in attacking my people again, and the cycle would have continued endlessly. By not raising a weapon or causing anyone harm, I proved my point more effectively than a dozen battles could ever have done.”
“This is true,” Rurka acknowledged. “I do not think we shall see Prince Tyrak again this side of the Jeel!” He laughed. “Who knows. He may even have to retire from warmongering forever. I do not think his men will follow him with any modicum of respect from now on, what do you say?”
Vasurava chuckled. “He might have some difficulty in that regard.”
Their laughter rose above the treetops as the uks cart clattered and rattled down the bumpy path, mingling with the cries of birds seeking their nests for the night. The news they carried back that night would occasion celebrations across Mraashk, jubilation at the departure of Tyrak’s Marauders and the prevention of what had seemed to be certain war with the Arrgodi.
Sadly, they were mistaken in their assumptions.
The worst was yet to come.