Chapter 35 Malini
MALINI
Her army had reached the very edge of Parijat. They could go no farther without making a decision.
The army generals met at dawn. The wind was blowing fiercely—strong enough that the map had to be weighed down with stones.
Priya—not a general, and not simply one of Malini’s inner court either—stood behind Malini with her hands clasped at her back, letting the wind whip about her loose hair without a care.
If anyone wanted to question her presence, they knew better than to say so.
The fact that she was here at all was a mark of her favor in the empress’s eyes.
Rao leaned over the map, swiftly laying out the options that remained for them, now that they were closing in on Parijat, with the weight of the High Prince’s army behind them and an unknowable number of Chandra’s men ahead of them, their own forces split and depleted.
“Two possible routes,” Rao stated. “One takes us through farmland, near the main road, straight to Harsinghar—”
“Absolutely not,” said Narayan, frowning. “I traveled that route many a time to pay homage to the emperor. The number of outposts and watchtowers alone will ensure we fight from dawn to dusk.”
“We have all traveled that route,” Prince Ashutosh said sharply, clearly unwilling to allow a subordinate Saketan noble to have the final word. “We know this already.”
Narayan nodded graciously.
“You’ll be less familiar with the second route,” Rao said, and gestured to the lines of the Veri river—no more than a stitch of blue on cloth—to illustrate his point.
“The Veri provides water to Harsinghar. To follow it is a swift route, but—difficult. The ground is bad. Crossing isn’t straightforward. ”
“Can it be dammed? Can the city be starved out?” This was asked by a keen-eyed man in the Dwarali retinue.
“Depriving the city of water is not under consideration,” Malini said firmly.
“As the empress says,” Rao agreed. “And I have been told by our shared military officials—and by the Srugani officers in particular,” he added, with a nod of respect to Lord Prakash, “that the river would not be easily blockaded. It is… very, very vast, and strong.”
“No good for horses,” muttered Khalil.
“Nonetheless, we will have to cross it,” Prakash said decisively. “Swift travel is of the greatest importance.”
“If we are spotted or face Chandra’s men there,” Khalil said, jabbing a fingertip to the map with uncharacteristic ferocity, “we’ll be dead. I have good men. Good cavalry. But on shallow waters, Chandra’s forces will have the upper hand.”
They were very likely to be spotted. Malini knew that.
An army could not be moved with any subtlety.
Oh, she could certainly travel with a smaller contingent: some archers, the best of her siege weaponry, the swiftest horses Khalil could spare.
That would, perhaps, allow her to go undetected by Chandra’s spies as she followed the river.
Perhaps. But she could not take the city of Harsinghar without a full horse-and-elephant cavalry—without plenty of foot soldiers and archers to barrage the city’s walls and face her brother’s men.
But if they avoided the river—traveled a direct path to Harsinghar…
Well, Narayan had been right enough.
She did not touch the map, as Khalil had. She let her eyes trace it instead, and mark the truth for her and her alone. If they crossed the river, they would shave days off of their journey. Weeks, even, if the water was not too high and the ford was unguarded.
The ford would not be unguarded. But there was an opportunity inherent in that, too.
“There is another crossing,” said Malini.
The men looked at her.
“There must be another crossing,” she corrected.
“Shallower waters or a bridge. There are two villages, further along the Veri, beyond the ford. Both trade in crops and in fish.” Malini leaned over the map.
The men stepped back, allowing her to touch a finger to the place where the villages lay.
They were marked on the map by nothing but two knots of thread.
Swati had knotted those in herself, on Malini’s guidance, after she had found those villages in the records carried by her officials and realized she had her answer.
“In many ways, they consider themselves one village. They share a name. But they lie on opposite sides of the Veri.” She raised her head.
“To travel across the ford without access to horses—access I am sure they lack—would take them far too long. There is a crossing.”
Many of the men looked puzzled. But Khalil’s eyes brightened.
“I think, Lord Khalil, you understand my intent,” Malini said.
Lord Khalil picked up one of the stones holding down the map.
“You believe if your brother’s army comes for you, it will come here,” he said, placing the stone on one side of the river.
“At the ford, where the crossing is easiest, and where their superior numbers and fire may attack us directly. In such a scenario, they would win.” He pressed a finger to the other side of the ford, where Malini’s army would stand—where Malini’s army would surely be defeated.
“But you intend to send a contingent of your army toward a crossing that your brother’s men are unlikely to be aware of.
You intend them to cross unnoticed, send them toward the flank of your brother’s army, unseen, unexpected, and then…
” He touched a fingertip to the cloth behind the stone; drew both fingers together, neatly folding the cloth around the stone.
“A pincer,” he said. “Chandra’s army crushed in the grip of our own.
We have used similar methods, when facing the Jagatay at Dwarali’s borders.
” Khalil’s mouth faintly upticked into a smile.
“Indeed,” said Malini. She knew. It was the tactics used in Dwarali—relayed to her, over feasts, in the first weeks of her campaign against her brother—that had influenced her decision.
She had thought, at first, that Chandra intended to use something similar to trap Malini’s forces: the High Prince’s men pinning her army from one side, and his from the other. But he had not, it seemed, left the safety and fortification of Harsinghar. Pitiful.
That did not mean there would be no Parijati warriors lying in wait on the journey, of course. This was Chandra’s territory. He knew it. He knew, as she knew, every route, every path, every inch of high ground that would give him the advantage over her.
But Chandra would not have thought of the villages, linked by a shared name, and the opportunity they offered. Chandra had never had to look for home and power in the smallest things, in the dregs that were barely worth marking by eye, by record, by map, by memory.
“It would be a risky path,” another lord murmured. “If there’s no crossing to be found.”
“If there is no crossing, we may fail,” Malini acknowledged.
“If Chandra has forces prepared and waiting, blocking both sides of the ford, we may fail. There is always a possibility. You are seasoned warriors. I cannot, and will not, lie to you. But my lords, I have the will of the mothers on my side. I have the best of Parijatdvipa’s royalty on my side. Fate is on our side. We will not fail.”
They continued their journey—days and nights of desperately swift travel, lumbering across Parijat, through fields and villages, past watchful villagers.
Night fell, and though they were close enough to the Veri to hear the rumble of its waters, they took advantage of defensible terrain—high ground, ringed by trees—to set up camp and rest.
A scouting party relayed to Malini and her council exactly what Malini had expected to hear: There was an armed force watching the ford. Smaller than what would surely have faced them on the main road to Harsinghar, but still nothing to be scoffed at.
Her gambit would have to work.
While Malini waited for her tent to be erected, she met with Lady Raziya under the star-flecked sky. Malini was wrapped tightly in a shawl, but Raziya was dressed only lightly, too used to Dwarali cold to be disturbed by Parijat’s mild nighttime cool.
“My husband and I will accompany you to the ford,” Lady Raziya said, by way of greeting.
“I will gladly face what comes next with you at my side,” said Malini. “You and your archers.”
“Do you have faith that my guardswomen will protect you? Die for you, if need be?” Raziya’s gaze was fixed on Malini, assessing. “Because if you do not, Empress, you must train your own. You must have people you can trust.”
“I trust you,” Malini said. She did not say not wholly, not completely.
But wasn’t it enough that she had learned to admire and rely upon Raziya’s strength, just as she relied on Lata’s clever mind, or Rao’s faith, or the small, flickering light of Deepa’s ambition?
“I am grateful for the friendship you’ve given me. ”
Raziya nodded.
“When your throne is won,” she said, “I look forward to seeing the vows that formed our friendship fulfilled.”
Later, in her tent, Malini went through her evening rituals, preparing for bed, forcing her racing mind to calm.
When all was complete, she sat on her bed and waited in the darkness.
She heard Priya’s voice long before she heard a single footstep.
“Sima’s gone somewhere with Lady Raziya’s women again.” Voice pitched low. Now, Malini could hear Priya’s footsteps, each one a scuff of noise against the tent floor, marking her path. “No one saw me come here.”
“You’re very good at being invisible when you choose to be,” Malini said, fondness bleeding into her voice.
Priya kneeled by Malini’s cot. The light was so muted here that Malini could barely see her. But she was keenly aware of the presence of Priya beside her: the dark shadow of her hair; the breadth of her shoulders; one strong, callused hand, pressed to her bedding, fingers curled.
“You asked me here for a reason, Malini,” Priya said. “Aren’t you going to use me?”