An Oblique Approach

"What is your professional assessment, Kungas? Do you think the princess and her—ah, abductors—will be caught?"

"One abductor only, General."

"One?" The general frowned. "I had heard a whole band of vicious cutthroats were responsible. The palace was a scene of utter massacre, according to rumor."

"Massacre? Oh, yes. Massacre, indeed. The majordomo, three high priests, and two mahamimamsa guards garroted. Eleven priests and mahamimamsa butchered in their beds—their throats cut by a razor, apparently. A priest and a mahamimamsa slain in the great hall. Handwork, that, by a deadly assassin. Three mahamimamsa knifed outside the antechamber. A priest and six more mahamimamsa guards slaughtered in the antechamber. Blade-work again, mostly. Then, two more mahamimamsa slain in the princess' own sleeping chamber. Assassin handwork again, although—"

"Although?"

Kungas made a quick assessment. Partly, the assessment was based on his memory of Venandakatra's scowls toward the general. But, in the main, it was based on the faint but unmistakable trace of humor in the general's voice when he used the word "abductors."

"Well, as it happens, I examined the scene of the—ah, crime—myself. At Lord Venandakatra's behest. That is why I said `one abductor.' The entire operation was carried out by one man."

"One man?" demanded the general. But he did not seem particularly astonished.

Kungas nodded. "Yes. One man. The trail of slaughter was that left by a single man, not a group. One man, alone. A man by the name of Raghunath Rao. The Panther of Maharashtra, he is sometimes called. Or the Wind of the Great Country. Other names. It was he. I am certain of it. He is known to have a personal attachment to the princess. There are not more than three—possibly four—assassins in India who are that deadly. And none has that proficiency with their bare hands and feet."

Kungas almost grimaced. "No one else can shatter bones and pulverize bodies that way. That is why—ah, that is, the two mahamimamsa who were killed in the princess' own chamber were also slain by hand. But the blows, though skillful, had none of the pure fury of the Panther's."

The general frowned.

"But—you said one man—"

"The princess. She killed them. She was trained by Raghunath Rao, you see. Such, at least, is my personal belief. I watched her dance, many times, in the long months I served as her captor—ah, guardian. Wonderful dancer, but—well, there was always that scent of the assassin about her movements. And in Amaravati, at the end of the siege, she killed several Ye-tai who attacked her in her room. One of them after she was disarmed."

The general's eyes widened. Slightly.

Kungas lowered his head, stared at the ground. When he spoke, his voice was as hard as his face.

"As to your first question—will they be captured? Yes. They will. Their position is hopeless."

"Why are you so certain?"

Kungas shrugged, looked up. "She is but a girl, General. A princess. Oh, true, a princess like no other you've ever seen. A princess out of legend. But still—she's never been hunted. She has no experience, or real training, in the skills of eluding a thousand men through the forest and mountains."

Kungas shook his head, forestalling the general's question.

"It doesn't matter. Even with Raghunath Rao to help her and guide her, she—" A pause. "You've hunted, I'm sure, in a large party. Or even with just one other man. Who sets the pace? Who frightens off the game? Who misses the shot?"

The general replied instantly: "The weakest man. The poorest hunter."

Kungas nodded. "Exactly. So—well, if Raghunath Rao were alone, I believe he would outwit and escape his pursuers. But even for him, the task would be extraordinarily difficult, with such an immense number of hunters on his trail. Encumbered by the princess—" He shrugged again. "It is simply not possible. No, they will be caught."

Kungas saw the general glance aside. He seemed to stiffen a bit. Perhaps.

Kungas followed his glance. The last members of the foreign party had arrived and were approaching their howdah. The young black prince from Ethiopia and his women.

Kungas had heard tales of the prince. His rampant lust; his viciousness toward his concubines. He had shrugged off the tales, for the most part. Resentful, malicious envy toward royalty and high nobility was so common as to make all such tales suspect.

But, as he watched, he decided that the tales were perhaps true, after all. The women certainly seemed fearful and abject. All of them were veiled and kept their heads down. Very submissive. None of their faces could even be seen, so timid were the wretched creatures. There were none of the flashing, excited, inquisitive gazes one normally saw from young girls embarking on a journey.