Sword Destiny by Robert Leader Page A

the gladiatorial epic that might well settle the whole war. Many of them were casting glances over their shoulders to try and see what was going on behind them. Jahan knew that it would be fatal to follow suit but his concentration was divided. Sardar grinned and pressed forward with another whirlwind attack. In the same moment, Ranjit’s great bull-bellow of rage as his brother Salim fell carried clearly across the whole plain of battle.
    Jahan flicked his gaze in the direction of the sound and Sardar grabbed his chance and broke through his guard. Sardar’s blade chopped down below Jahan’s parry and clove the old Warmaster deep in the thigh. Jahan groaned and staggered back, the blood pouring down over his knee in a bright red flood. Sardar pressed forward in a continued attack, smashing Jahan’s blade to one side and then swinging a great two-handed blow. Jahan took the blade on his arm shield, but the shield shattered and he was knocked down on to the blood-drenched-knee. The old Warmaster stabbed his sword down into the ground to hold himself up and now he was helpless. Sardar swung up his own sword, poised for the final blow.
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    Hamir the huntsman was still alive. His foremost skills were in woodcraft, his knowledge of wild animals and tracking, but he also possessed a latent but definite talent for survival. On that fighting retreat from the tiger hunt, he had shown that he was a natural swordsman and he had acquitted himself well over the past five days of battle. He also had a keen eye for the bow, and when the conflict had stilled to watch the mighty conflict between the two war leaders, Hamir had been in the act of notching another arrow to his string.
    He had frozen in that stance, watching like a hundred others, with bated breath. He was as loyal and brave as any man on the battlefield, but he was not a trained soldier. He had his own code and his own philosophy, but it was not an exact mirror of the militaristic code of most of the men around him. In the wild, he was his own master and did not look for orders. When he saw Jahan fall, he acted upon his own instincts and instantly raised his bow. He drew back and let the arrow fly, knowing only that he could not stand by and let the Warmaster General of Karakhor be butchered like a stunned ox.
    The feathered shaft flashed forward without pause for aim and tore through Sardar’s arm shield, slicing open his upper arm and spinning him round in a half circle.
    There was a mass roar of anger from the throats of Maghalla and a score of warriors surged forward to protect their king. The foremost warriors of Karakhor leaped to meet them and the battle was instantly rejoined. Sardar was pulled back behind his milling ranks and Hamir ran forward with half a dozen others to retrieve Jahan and carry him, wounded but alive, from the field.

Chapter Five
    The nightly war council in the great audience hall in Karakhor was again a sombre and grim-faced affair, with three more gaps in their ranks. The weeping and wailing for the deaths of Salim and Sanjay carried up clearly through the high, open windows from the streets outside. One by one, the weary princes, house lords and war captains assembled, most of them still grimy with the day’s blood and dust and carrying their steel or leather battle helmets under one arm. Rajar was one of the last to arrive, having taken the time to bathe, change his clothes and don a clean white, bejeweled turban. The young prince stood for a moment, surveying the silent faces of his peers and elders, and then his dark, longing gaze lingered again on the empty elephant throne.
    Slowly, casually, Rajar strolled toward the seat of supreme power. He hesitated on the last step, his tongue briefly licking his dry lips. He knew every eye in the room was watching for his next move. He was aware of Ramesh starting forward and quickly turned.
    Devan was standing beside Ramesh. As the young prince moved, their uncle