“No. Definitely not. Things have been tense since the War in the North, even though that was thirty years ago. Not sure I’d want to come face-to-face with one of their horsemen, even now. I pray they never turn their eye south again.”
Kunal laughed. “Maybe you can take us one day.”
“That’s a great idea. You know I used to have a sweetheart up there?” Alok stared off into the distance, looking forlorn, but Kunal and Laksh laughed. Alok frowned.
“Yes, true love as a child,” Laksh muttered, rolling his eyes.
“It was.” Alok tried to look offended. “Now I’m stuck here. Being part of the powerful ‘Blood Fort’ should make us irresistible to any girl, but there are none within an acre now that we’re no longer on campaign.”
Kunal resisted the urge to snort. He was sure girls valued many things higher than armor on a man.
“A tragedy,” Kunal said, forgoing the cuirass. It had been made for him, molded to his body like a second skin, but most of the soldiers trained bare-chested anyway. It wasn’t as humid down near the sea as in the rest of Jansa, but a few hours in the sun would get the training courtyard hot enough.
Alok snorted. “A tragedy for you too. You’d have had a swarm of sweethearts.” Kunal heard him mutter how that might have helped him out as well.
Kunal rolled his eyes and fished around for his waist sash, tying it tightly over his pants. Alok turned toward him.
“Took you long enough. Let’s go, lazybones.”
It had been a punishing round of training.
Alok had picked up the shield trick within minutes and used it repeatedly on Kunal’s exposed sword arm side, pounding down like a battering ram.
Kunal rotated his arm in the socket, loosening the already stiffening muscles as they left the training courtyard and made their way to the mess hall on the main level. Laksh had stayed behind to sharpen his weapons, leaving Alok and Kunal to trudge up to the dining hall.
They had gotten sparring time without any disturbances from others, a rarity in the overcrowded and overmasculine Fort. The cease-fire was a new reality, as was obvious by the uncertain faces of the soldiers who milled about the main courtyard.
Would this cease-fire hold? Would this lead to a real truce, to true peace? Or would their king simply turn his eyes to the western borders?
Kunal had less to worry about. His recent promotion into the Senap Guard gave him the possibility of being restationed to Gwali. That would mean less time on the front lines of the king’s expansion campaigns. He had never loved war anyway.
The Fort housed three of the four regiments of the Jansan army—the elephanteers, cavalry, and charioteers. Most of the Fort soldiers spent their time on the front battle lines, leading the charge with war elephants and the elegant chariot formations they practiced endlessly. It was the infantry who maintained order and justice throughout the land. Without war, many of these soldiers would have to find new roles.
From what he had overheard from his uncle, there was a good chance for peace. Dharka’s troops had been decimated after the most recent battle at Sundara, which had been a great victory for the Jansans, and they were looking for an end to the conflict. And for some reason, King Vardaan also seemed committed to peace this time around. Perhaps he had finally tired of war against his brother or was working to secure a new alliance or trade partnership with the west.
“I wonder if there will be training today,” Alok said, breaking into his musings. “If there is, you’ll have a rough go at it, won’t you, Kunal? Eh?” He waggled his eyebrows as Kunal grimaced.
The deep purple bruise spreading over his chest made Kunal wince with every breath. If this was what friendship was, perhaps he had enough friends.
Alok’s happiness at having mastered the feinting move hadn’t faded, and he was yammering on about the different battle potentials for the trick. That at least brought a smile to Kunal’s face. Alok would wiggle away if he ever voiced it, but Kunal thought of Alok and Laksh as brothers of a sort. Their success was his own.
They trudged up the steep incline of the outer ramp that led to the main level, their bellies rumbling, when a soldier yelled down at them. Kunal waved up in greeting as they climbed. The soldier came into view, wearing the thick, jeweled armband of a Senap guard, and Kunal greeted him with four fingers to his chest.
“Saran. Glad to see you up and awake.”
“Barely,” Saran said with a grin. Kunal grinned back as Alok joined them.
“You look better than I would have imagined after last night,” Alok said.
Kunal shot him an admonishing look. Nine years at the Fort and Alok still had trouble knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Kunal knew the Fort hadn’t been Alok’s first choice of home—or Laksh’s. The draft had claimed them, as his uncle had claimed Kunal.
Saran was different—the descendant of career soldiers from one of the lower noble houses who had come to power under King Vardaan. He had been born and bred for this, his entire life built around the Fort, and with that came power. A few words, and he could make Alok’s life miserable.
Thankfully, he laughed. “We’ll all look a bit worse for the wear today. We did reach a cease-fire last night, soldier,” Saran said, holding a hand to his head. The wine had clearly had its way with him. “Means the Dharkans understand they are no match for us. Our might will win.”
Kunal nodded, as was required of him. That was the basic gist of what they believed at the Fort. Kunal could recite the story of the Fort’s rise by heart, as clearly as their Rules of Order.
He could hear his uncle’s voice behind his words, steel and smoke.
A decade ago, Jansa had been weak under Queen Shilpa and the other Samyad queens, open to threats and obedient where they should have been dominant. Conceding instead of conquering during the War in the North thirty years ago. Vardaan taking rule was the natural order of things, as might would always win. His Himyad blood, the blood of kings, and prowess as a military adviser made him a natural choice for a leader. The rightful ruler over the weak Samyad queendom.
Since then, Jansa had been ruled by martial law, city councils and courts had been dismantled, and it had become illegal for large groups of people to gather. Before, the differences between the cultures of Jansa and Dharka—Jansa’s commitment to honor, Dharka’s love of mercy—were celebrated as two halves of a whole. But Vardaan’s rhetoric changed Jansa after the coup, drawing the nobility and upper class into the idea of regaining their honor through might. Now Dharka’s mercy was seen as a weakness.
He had never agreed with that, no matter how many times his uncle had made him recite the Rules of Order or King Vardaan’s new edicts. But Kunal could never voice that here.
Kunal slipped back into the conversation as they finished discussing the feast last night and who owed who a new sword after the games of dice.
“I’m glad for the cease-fire, truly, but I’m already itching for something to do after our victory at Sundara. Our Senap squadron was just given orders and I hear we’re going to the coast,” said Saran, before turning to Kunal. “I’m excited to welcome you to our brotherhood, Kunal.”
Kunal bowed his head in thanks, four fingers to his chest, and Saran responded in kind.
“The coast?” Laksh said, appearing from behind Saran. “That’s a terrific assignment. I’d wrestle you for it if I didn’t think the commander would miss me.”