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Chapter 40



The Sons of the Black Sword had been on the run for days, relentlessly pursued by the Devakulan army through the high desert canyons. They’d clashed several times, always giving worse than they received, but when outnumbered this badly, what did it matter? Eklavya knew they could kill ten each and Devakula would still have enough men to defeat them.

Their mission had succeeded, the aqueduct had fallen, but at what cost?

They’d taken many casualties. It was unknown who was dead and who had simply been cut off during one of their battles in the dark and scattered. Hopefully those would be able to regroup and make their way back to the Cove without being caught. They’d lost half their horses to fatigue or injuries, so most of the Sons were on foot now. Their gunners were out of powder. The men had barely slept for days.

They’d lost track of their prophet and their priest during the battle at the aqueduct. Their only hope was that Thera was among one of the smaller groups that had been split off in the chaotic retreat, and that they had shaken their hounds. She’d thrived as a criminal. If anyone could escape the Law, it was her.

The main body of the Sons, meanwhile, was too easy to track. And from what their advance scouts said, they’d taken a bad turn during the night, and there appeared to be no good way to climb out of the narrow canyon they’d been marching down. They’d reached a dead end. A thousand vengeful warriors were only a mile behind them, and the weather was getting colder.

“Yeah, I know, Kharsawan. You’ve said all that before,” Shekar told him after Eklavya had outlined their dire situation to the other officers once again.

“If you aren’t thinking of the future, you aren’t thinking at all, Somsak,” Toramana admonished him.

“Any of you come up with any bright ideas?”

Eklavya shrugged. “Not a one.”

“That’s what we officers are for,” Gupta said. “Recognizing real problems and then proposing terrible solutions.”

They knew they were going to die today, but that drew a laugh from all of them anyway.

“The plan stays the same, then,” Ongud declared. “The Sons of the Black Sword will make our last stand here.”


A few hours later, the army of Devakula marched into sight, then stopped, just out of what they probably assumed to be gun range. This garrison was local, so this was familiar terrain for them. They must have known the Sons had no way past these high canyon walls, except straight through a force that greatly outnumbered them. The warriors were taking their time, because their leader was probably hoping the Sons would despair once they realized they were trapped.

Only the Sons were as fearless as the man who had named them. They were prepared to meet their fate, and then go to meet their gods.

Eklavya paced back and forth in front of his infantry, shouting encouragement, checking their equipment, and giving last-minute instructions. In a head-to-head battle like this, the brunt of the engagement would be theirs, spear to spear. Behind them were the archers of Toramana and crossbowmen of Shekar. Ongud’s cavalry would use their bows until they saw a good opportunity to strike. Gupta’s gunners would serve as their reserve, though their fearsome Fortress rods were merely awkward staves now without their precious powder. It was fortunate that the enemy had not yet realized that fact, or they probably would have charged already.

He saw Laxmi waiting to the side and went to speak to her. “Good morning, wizard.”

“Hello, warrior,” she said. “Are you ready?”

Eklavya suspected she meant if he was ready to die. “Oddly enough, yeah. I suppose I am.”

The tiny, quiet, unassuming girl had been a potent force against the army of Devakula during their retreat, launching their ambushes by setting their most dangerous enemies on fire, and a few times turning into a tiger to terrorize the warriors during the night.

“I have a little bit of demon still.”

“You should use what you’ve got left to turn back into a tiger, then when they attack you can escape past them in the confusion.”

“I’ve thought about doing that.” Except then she shook her head. “But I think I’ll stay and help.”

“That’s brave of you, but you don’t need to waste your life for us. The Forgotten brought us together. We asked for this fight. You didn’t. Go. Please. Something good needs to come of this retreat. You’re too pretty to die here.” And then Eklavya regretted those foolish words as soon as they left his mouth.

Except the wizard girl blushed. “I’ll be behind your spears. Whenever your arms get tired and need to rest, call my name and I’ll set some of the enemy on fire. I should be able to do that a few times before I run out of magic.”

It was too bad they were about to die, because otherwise Eklavya would have to check with the Keeper of Names to see what the Forgotten’s rules were about proposing marriage to a wizard.

“They’re on the move!” Ongud shouted. “Get ready!”

Eklavya turned to see the enemy had begun marching toward them, shoulder to shoulder, rank upon rank, filling the entire canyon. They had even brought a drummer to set the cadence. “Go,” he told Laxmi, then ran back to his place among his men, at the center of the line. He donned his helm and took up his long spear. One nice thing about the Cove was that it grew strong, straight trees.

“This is it, Sons of the Black Sword! Fight for your prophet! Fight for your freedom! Fight for your gods!” The infantry roared in response.

The warriors closed slowly at first, probably worried about the legendary Fortress rods that had laid waste to the Akershani army at Garo, except when there was no flash of thunder and death, the drumbeat quickened, and they started marching faster.

It was cold in the shadows of the canyon walls. The Sons were one small cluster of troops, far from home, low on numbers, food, water, and sleep. The enemy was made up of fresh troops, motivated because they were fighting a criminal invader inside the borders of their homeland, and these criminals had just destroyed one of their proudest landmarks.

Against such numbers Eklavya knew the Sons would be lucky to survive ten minutes, but oh, what a fight that would be.

“They’re above us too!” someone cried.

He looked up and around, and sure enough, there were figures appearing atop the canyon wall behind them, dozens of them. They’d be able to launch arrows and drop rocks on the Sons with impunity. Oceans. How’d they find a way up there? That was the danger of fighting the enemy on their ground.

“They’ve got us surrounded!”

Thinking quickly, Ongud shouted, “We have to advance! Get off this wall! Punch through the enemy!”

“You heard him!” Eklavya bellowed, knowing that his spearmen would have to lead the way. “Infantry, on me. Forward. Forward!

Their small group started toward the massive army before them.

Except then the strangest thing happened. The Devakulans stopped.

Banners dipped. The drumbeat changed. Their officers had called a halt. They were staring up at the canyon walls as well.

Those were not their men above.

Fortress rods fired. Smoke billowed across the top of the canyon. The opening volley tore through the Devakulan lines, bullets punching straight through shields and armor plates to tumble through flesh. Warriors collapsed, some dead right there. Others screamed and clutched at their ruined limbs.

More figures were appearing at the top of the canyon along the right wall, directly over the Devakulan flank. Eklavya squinted to see against the bright sunlight if they were friend or foe, but then he got his answer when the jugs of Fortress powder they hurled down detonated, blowing Devakulan warriors into bloody pieces.

“Who are they?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now’s our chance!” Ongud shouted. “Break them!”

“Infantry, double march!” Eklavya roared, and that was heard and repeated by his havildars, and now their row of spears was moving at the equivalent to an easy run.

The mysterious gunners kept firing, not in volleys as Gupta taught, but individually, each man going as fast as he could. Only since they were shooting downward into tightly packed ranks, there was hardly any way they could miss, so every bullet sowed pandemonium. An officer in the back was swept off his horse. Archers collapsed. White and black banners dropped as their carriers were gunned down. Even their drum was cut off by a bullet.

Once the Somsak’s powerful crossbows were in range, bolts flew over the infantry’s heads. More of the enemy fell.

His men had learned well, and they remained shoulder to shoulder as they moved as one. With only fifty yards between them before the two sides collided, Eklavya prayed their wizard could hear him, and bellowed, “Laxmi, now!”

The center of the enemy’s front rank was consumed by a rolling ball of flame.

They were headed right for that spot, where burning warriors were crashing against their brothers and disturbing their line. “Ready spears!” All of his men dropped their weapons to chest level, aimed at the enemy.

It was in that moment that Eklavya realized that the enemy’s front rank wasn’t made up of their best. They were their worst. Many of them turned and fled, crashing back into the other ranks. Some even threw their spears on the ground. Of course. Their phontho had assumed the Sons still had powder for their guns, so he’d kept his better troops back, hoping their bullets would be spent against their least valuable soldiers. It was callous, but it made sense, especially if their commander had heard about the route at Garo.

Only now their more experienced troops were farther back being randomly pierced by bullets or shredded by falling bombs, while their inexperienced and expendable men faced the brutal and blooded Sons of the Black Sword.

The line struck, spears thrusting. Eklavya’s first attack bounced off a shield. His second slid over the top and pierced a Devakulan’s throat. Looking back and forth, Eklavya saw the resistance was crumbling before them and roared, “Step!” He’d drilled them thousands of time. The line took one stride forward and kept on stabbing. More of the enemy fell. “Step!” Again. Bodies toppled. Warriors broke.

Except now better combatants were rushing forward to take their place. The enemy had multiple ranks. To span the canyon and keep from being flanked, Eklavya had one.

Arrows flew back and forth. The enemy archers’ attention was split, as some of them were aiming at Eklavya’s infantry, but most were futilely trying to hit the gunners looking over the cliffs. Meanwhile, Toramana’s swamp men never seemed to miss. An arrow killed the man at his side, and their single line became thinner.

From where he was standing, Eklavya could only see carnage and the combatants immediately around him. From the saddle, Ongud must have seen an opportunity, because suddenly the Sons’ cavalry was galloping to one side. “Infantry, part on the left!”

His havildar on that flank began shouting, “Make a hole! Make a hole!”

The line split, but only for a moment, because then Ongud’s cavalry rushed through and Eklavya saw just enough to realize they were riding down the fleeing lead paltans and heading straight for the enemy archers.

The men fought as Eklavya had taught them, as Jagdish had taught him. Many of them hadn’t even been born in the warrior caste, but they all fought like they had. Each man did his part, but that didn’t stop them from dying. Gaps appeared in the line. Another rolling ball of fire bought them time to breathe. Then he realized that the gaps were being plugged, as Gupta’s gunners were running forward to take up every spear that got dropped. They lacked the skill and cohesion, but by the gods he could appreciate the fight in them!

His spear got lodged in a man’s pelvis, and when he couldn’t wrench it out, he went to his sword. Exhaustion, fear, and desperate rage caused order to crumble. It was no longer a line, it was simply a mob of very angry men doing their best to kill one another. And the warriors of Devakula were very angry indeed.

At one point Eklavya killed a man, only to get bashed over the helmet by his friend. He found himself lying facedown in the sand as boots stomped all around him. He’d never fought in the sand before. It was remarkably absorbent and soaked up blood as fast as they could spill it.

Laxmi must have seen him go down, because all the Devakulans ahead of him suddenly burst into flames. Eklavya got back up and hacked his way through the ash. Spear points struck his armor. Swords rebounded off Kharsawan plate. But between the help of the gods, his brothers, and a wizard, he wouldn’t die that day.

Battles could turn on the smallest bit of chance, and though he couldn’t see it at the time, afterward Ongud would tell all the Sons of how in the midst of slaughtering their archers, he had looked over just in time to see the enemy phontho standing in his stirrups, screaming orders and directing troops, when a Fortress bomb landed close enough to roll beneath the phontho’s horse.

All Eklavya knew was that a horn blew, and suddenly he was fighting fewer warriors. Then none at all. And he was standing there, arms burning, struggling for breath, as the Devakulans retreated from the canyon, still under heavy fire.


Hours later, ragged and exhausted, the Sons of the Black Sword met their rescuers.

Eklavya couldn’t believe his eyes, for at the head of a group of workers—each of whom was carrying an astounding two, three, or even four Fortress rods—was a familiar figure. A man of tremendous girth and stature, with a booming voice that had become well known to all the Sons who had wintered in the swamp of Bahdjangal.

“Well, well, it’s fortunate that you found yourselves in trouble so near to one of my many illegal gun factories! Lucky for you lot I’m being exceedingly well paid to come and save you!” the jovial magic smuggler boasted. “It appears that once again the fearsome Sons of the Black Sword have found themselves deeply indebted to their humble servant, Gutch!”


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Framed