Shouted or croaked, it was true. And the ragged chorus of that same half-croaked shout coming from the fifty cavalrymen following told Jaimal that their men knew it as well as they did.
Rajputana was a land of horsemen, as well as warriors. A great horse ride would become a thing of renown just as surely as a great feat of arms.
Emperor Damodara and Rana Sanga had asked them to accomplish the incredibly difficult task of riding from Bharakuccha to Ajmer in two weeks. If possible.
They'd done it in eleven days. Without losing more than nine of their horses.
"A ride of legend!" he shouted himself.
But there was no need for that, really. Already, he could see the gates of the city opening, and cavalrymen issuing forth. Hundreds of them. Even from the great distance, just seeing the way they rode, he knew they were all young men. Seeking their own place in legends.
Jaimal and Udai would give it to them.
* * *
Standing on the walls of Ajmer and watching the way the young warriors who had poured out of the city were circling the new arrivals—there were at least a thousand of them, now, with more sallying from the gates every minute—the oldest and therefore wisest king of Rajputana knew it was hopeless. That was a whirlwind of celebration and excitement, out there. Caution and sagacity would soon become so many leaves blown by the monsoon.
"Perhaps..." began Chachu.
Dasal shook his head. Standing next to him, his brother Dasal did likewise.
"Not a chance," said Jaisal curtly. "
"We don't even know what it's about, yet," whined Chachu. One of the other kings who formed the council grunted something in the way of agreement.
Dasal shrugged. "Don't be foolish. No, we don't know
He nodded toward the column, which was now advancing toward the gates with over a thousand other Rajput cavalrymen providing them with what was, for all practical purposes, an escort of honor.
"The new emperor sent them. Or Rana Sanga. Or both. And they will be demanding the allegiance of all Rajputs. So what do we say?"
He had no answer, himself. The Rajput heart that beat within him was just as eager as any of those young warriors out there. But that heart had now beaten for almost eighty years. Each and every year of which had hammered caution into his mind, whatever his heart might feel.
"Let's return to the council chamber and await them there," suggested Jaisal.
That might help. A bit.
"Yes," Dasal said.
* * *
But when they returned to the council chamber, they discovered it had been pre-empted from them already. The seven thrones had been removed from their accustomed places in a half-circle at the elevated dais. They were now resting, still in a half-circle,
On the dais itself, sat only one chair. A smaller and less ostentatious chair, as it happened, than the seven chairs of the kings. And the man who sat in it was smaller—certainly more rotund—than any of the kings.
But it hardly mattered. Dasal understood who he was before he even spoke.
Chachu, as usual, had to be enlightened.
"I am Great Lord Damodara," the short, fat old man said. "The Emperor's father. I am the new viceroy of Rajputana. And you will obey me."
Behind him, in a row, stood half a dozen Malwa bodyguards. Assassins, to call things by their right name. More to the point, at least fifty young Rajput warriors were standing alongside the walls of the chamber. Each and every one of whom was glaring at the seven kings.
Suddenly, the plump face of Great Lord Damodara broke into a smile. The expression made him seem a much friendlier sort of fellow.
"But, please!" he exclaimed, waving his hand at the seven chairs before him. "Take your seats, kings of Rajputana."
Dasal considered the courtesy. Then, considered the titles. Finally, considered the chairs.
The chairs made the decision. They were the same chairs, after all. Very august ones. Not to mention comfortable.
He felt relief more than anything else. Clearly enough, the new regime in the land of the Rajputs was willing to accommodate the status—if not the authority—of the old one.
He was almost eighty years old, after all. Even the youngest of the seven kings of the council was past seventy.
"Yes, Great Lord." Dasal moved forward and sat in his accustomed chair. He gave his half dozen fellows an abrupt nod, commanding them to follow.
They did so, readily enough. Only Chachu made a token protest.
"I don't understand," he whined. "If you're still alive, why aren't
The smile on the Great Lord's face stayed in place, but it got an ironic twist.
"Good question. I'll have to take it up with my headstrong son when we meet again. For the moment, I ascribe it to the monsoon times we're living in."