The Dance of Time

All the Rajput kings had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment. They didn't answer immediately, however, Belisarius noted.

He wasn't surprised. Their smashing victory over the Mathura garrison had filled the young Rajput warriors with elation so great it bordered on heedlessness and reckless arrogance. Inexperienced to begin with, they were in no mood to listen to the lectures of old kings concerning the danger of accidentally fighting allies in the middle of a turbulent campaign of marches and counter-marches. "Friendly fire," as a future world would call it, was not something a nineteen-year-old Rajput cavalryman gave much thought to when he woke up in the morning. Or at any time of the day or night.

"Right." Belisarius swiveled again and brought Jaimal and Udai Singh under his gaze.

"Can you manage it?"

Jaimal smiled thinly. "Oh, yes, General Belisarius." He gave the old kings a sly look. " Our men are real veterans."

"But there are only fifty of us," cautioned Udai Singh.

"That should be enough," Belisarius said. "I'll send Abbu and some of his scouts with you, along with a few of my cataphracts. All we need to do, for the moment, is make contact with the Kushans. Set up a time and place where Kungas and I can meet-assuming I'm right, and he's here. If not, whoever their commander is."

Sanga's two lieutenants trotted off, with Abbu and Stylian trailing behind. Belisarius could rely on Stylian to select level-headed cataphracts for the business. In the meantime, he had a different problem to deal with.

"I'm still guessing," he said to the kings, "but I'm pretty sure Kungas will have most of his army on the north bank of the Ganges. It's what I would do in his place. Keep Sati from crossing the river and using it as a shield between us and her."

Faced with a straightforward tactical issue, the kings were more at ease.

"Agreed," said Dasal. "Which means-until we can establish liaison-we should stay on this side."

"This side, and east of here," his younger brother grunted. "Resume the burning. Turn everything for twenty miles to the east into a wasteland. The Malwa will be stranded."

"The young men will complain," complained Chachu.

Dasal's frown might have been envied by Jove. "The young men will do as they are told."

The young Rajput warriors complained. Bitterly.

They also did as they were told.

By the time Jaimal and Udai and Abbu returned, the sky east of Sati's army was filled with smoke.

"It's Kungas," Jaimal said. "He recommends you meet at a fishing village-what used to be a fishing village-five miles upstream from the Malwa army."

Udai gri

Belisarius returned the grin. "I'd look silly in a topknot. I'll take my chances."

Stylian was frowning, however. "Only five miles from the enemy? That seems…"

Abbu was already shaking his head. "No need to worry. That Malwa army is not moving at all, any longer. Just sitting there, baking in the garam sun."

"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 ca

"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.