The Dance of Time

The smile became serene. "But I don't imagine I'll argue the point with him. Actually, it might make for a good tradition. When emperors—and kings—get too old, they tend to get too set in their ways. Best to have them retire and take up some prestigious but less demanding post, while their son assumes the heavier responsibilities. Don't you think?"

The smile was friendly. But the assassins were still there, not smiling at all. And the young warriors were still glaring.

"Indeed, Great Lord," said Dasal.

His brother echoed him immediately. Chachu, thankfully, kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Or, at least, kept his mouth shut until the two leaders of the newly-arrived cavalry column finished their report.

"That's madness!" Chachu exclaimed. "Belisarius?"

But Dasal had come to the opposite conclusion. The Great Lord was right. Old men should retire, when the time comes.

Especially when presented with such a fine way to do so.

"It's brilliant," he rebutted, rising to his feet. "And I will lead the force that goes into the Thar to find him."

His brother came to his feet also. "I'll go with you."

"You're too old!" protested Chachu.

The two brothers glared at him, with the combined indignation of one hundred and fifty-six years of life.

"I can still ride a horse!" snarled Dasal. "Even if you can't ride anything other than a chair any longer."

* * *

They left the following evening, just after sunset. No sane man rides into the desert during the day. Dasal and Jaisal had one hundred and fifty-six years of sanity between them.

The young warriors were impatient, of course. All seven thousand of them.

Especially impatient were the six thousand that the two kings had insisted ride on camels, carrying the water and other supplies that they were quite sure Belisarius needed. Leave it to an idiot Roman to try to cross the desert without camels. Relying on wells! In the Thar!

Most impatient of all were the ten thousand—with more coming into the city every day—whom Dasal had insisted remain behind. With, fortunately, the agreement and approval of the new viceroy of Rajputana. They would just be a nuisance in the expedition, and a new Rajput army had to be formed.

Formed quickly. The monsoon was coming.

Fortunately, Rana Sanga's two lieutenants Jaimal and Udai Singh had the authority and experience for the task. They needed a rest anyway, after their ride of legend. By the time Jaisal and Dasal returned to Ajmer with Belisarius, the new army would be ready.

For... whatever. Given Belisarius, it would be a thing of legend. Dasal only hoped he would live long enough to see it.

Assuming the idiot Roman was still alive. Crossing the Thar on horses! Relying on wells!

* * *

When the Malwa assassination team finally rowed their ship into the great harbor at Bharakuccha, they knew another moment of frustration and chagrin.

"Look at that!" snarled one of them.

The captain of the team just shook his head. The docks and piers of the city seemed practically covered with a carpet of people, all of them come down to greet the Axumite fleet escorting the Emperor of Rome.

The fleet was already anchored. As they drew closer, the Malwa assassins could see the Roman imperial party being escorted to the great palace of the Goptri by a small army of Ethiopian sarwen.

Even if they'd been in position, there would have been no way to get to the boy Emperor. And once he was in the palace...

The captain of the assassination team and his lieutenant were both familiar with the great palace of the Goptri. As the palace of a conquering viceroy in a hostile land, serving a dynasty famous for its paranoia, it had been designed

to thwart assassins. Unless the guards were utterly incompetent...

"Ethiopian sarwen," the lieutenant grumbled. "And you can be sure that Raghunath Rao will be there to advise them."

The captain spent a moment adding up the miles he and his team had traveled, to carry out an assignment that always seem to recede before them in the distance. It had been like trying to assassinate a mirage in the desert.

From Kausambi to Bharakuccha to Alexandria to Constantinople. And then back again, almost all the way.

Something like ten thousand miles, he thought. Who could really know?

"Nothing for it," he said. "We'll sell the ship as soon as we can, since we're almost out of money. Then... we'll just have to see what we can do."

* * *

Finding a buyer for the ship was easy. Whether rightly and wrongly—and, more and more, the captain was beginning to wonder if they weren't right—the merchants of Bharakuccha seemed quite confident that the old Malwa empire was gone from the Deccan and that trade would soon be picking up.

They even got a better price than the captain had expected.

That was the first and last thing that went as planned. No sooner had they emerged from the merchant clearinghouse than a harried-looking official accosted them. Accompanied, unfortunately, by a large squad of soldiers.