The Dance of Time

"Kungas says Sati had her elephants butchered, two days ago," added Jaimal. "The beasts were getting out of control—and, by now, they probably needed the meat, anyway. He thinks that army is getting pretty desperate."

* * *

The word "desperate" could have been applied to the soldiers of Link's army, well enough, but not to the cyborg itself. True, it had come to the conclusion that the position of its army was hopeless. But, in the odd way that its mind worked, that knowledge brought nothing more than what a human might have called "relief."

Not that either, really, since Link knew no emotions. Still, the other side of hopelessness was that decisions became very simple. If nothing else, rest from labor was at hand.

In a few hours, at least. Link still had to work through human instruments, and those flawed creatures always had their own needs. Which, at times, had to be respected.

So, with its inhuman patience, Link observed silently as the special priests and assassins in its chaundoli began their rituals.

It might even be said to do so with satisfaction. At least that part of the new gods' plan had worked properly. The cult fostered over a century earlier in the Khmer lands had served its purpose well. Link could rely on those priests and assassins to do what was needed.

If not, unfortunately, as quickly as it would have liked. But half a day's delay should not matter. Even if, as Link was assuming, Damodara had seized the big guns at Mathura, it would still take weeks before they could begin crumbling the walls of Kausambi.

* * *

Damodara's estimate was considerably more pessimistic.

"At least two months," he grumbled, watching the great cannons as they belched fire at the walls of Kausambi. Half of them missed entirely. The bores on those giant but crude siege guns were very sloppy. The huge stone balls that did strike the walls seemed to have no more effect than so many pebbles.

"If we're lucky," he added sourly.

But Rana Sanga barely heard him, and paid no attention to the guns at all. The Rajput king had entered that peculiar mental zone he usually entered before a great battle. A strange combination of serenity and fierce anticipation—the first, serving as a dam for the pent-up waters of the second.

When the time came—very soon, he thought—the dam would break.

No, would shatter. Pouring out in that flood would be the greatest ride of his life, followed by his greatest battle.

"Months!" Damodara snarled.

"Yes, Lord," said Sanga, absently. He didn't even notice that he used the old appellation for Damodara, instead of the new "Your Majesty."

Neither did Damodara.

* * *

"I'm nervous," said Tarun. "What if I do it wrong? Are you sure—"

"Don't be silly," Rajiv assured the young stable-boy. He held up the fuse, pinched between thumb and forefinger. "What's to go wrong? You've got a pocket full of matches. Just light this and take shelter."

Dubiously, Tarun brought out one of the matches in his pocket and studied it.

"What if—?"

Trying not to let his exasperation show, Rajiv plucked the match from Tarun hand and struck it against one of the stones in the stable floor. The match flared up very nicely, with its usual acrid fumes.

"Specially made," he said forcefully. "By the best apothecary in Kausambi."

Honesty forced him to add: "Well... The best in this quarter, anyway. He's probably just as good as any in the imperial palace, though."

That was true enough, but it brought up another thing for Tarun to fret over.

"What if he betrays us? Matches are unusual things. What if he starts wondering—"

Squatting a few feet away, Valentinian laughed softly. "Weren't you just telling us yesterday that nobody is paying attention to the soldiers any more? Even the soldiers themselves?"

"They've even slacked off the digging," Anastasius added. "Good thing, too, as close as they were getting."

Never comfortable for very long in a squat, the huge cataphract rose to his feet. It was an ungainly movement, not because Anastasius was un-coordinated—which he certainly wasn't, for a man his size—but simply because the size itself created certain physical realities. A rhinoceros is ungainly also, rising to its feet. Not ungainly, however, in the charge that follows.

"Relax, boy. By now, Skandagupta has over a thousand corpses or heads decorating the walls of his palace. He's become a maniac, and everyone in the city knows it. Nobody in his right mind wants to get anywhere near him—or his police. That apothecary will do what everyone else is trying their best to do, these days. Mind his own business and hope he survives whatever's coming."