He watched the crowds gather in the pavilion of the royal stadium. The moonlight outlined their anxious silhouettes as they crammed their bodies into the limited seating space. The soft sand in the fighting arena had been leveled for the night. Four torches stood tall at the corners of the designated ring; their flames already at war with the billowing winds.
Had he known that being a leader would entail enduring the animosity of those he was closest to, he would have fought this very leadership he was so envied for. Truth be told, he was never given a choice. He was the chosen one. While most of his people considered this to be a glorious calling, only he truly understood the dark struggles which lurked behind this glamour.
The Radthasatma no longer existed. The seven pillars, chosen by the Goddess to shoulder the Ranakrt, had crumbled. Only he was to be blamed for it. The Goddess had chosen him to be the leader and he had let her down. He had let all of them down.
The only way he could redeem himself was to reunite the Radthasatma. And he was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish it.
Even participating in this fight. He had never raised a hand at a woman in anger or in fight. But tonight he would clash swords with one.
She was told he was brilliant. It was said that he could move without causing a stir in the breeze. The soldiers whispered with awe about his command of the blade. They said his orders danced on the sharp silver tipped edges of any weapon. She almost believed them. How else could he have defeated four of the best trainers of Yusmota and her very own General?
She had fought many warriors, some on the battlefields and some outside of it. In her experience she knew of only one man who possessed the power to bend life and objects to his will. Only one man moved with the feral grace of the predators he loved. And she was in love with this man.
She had unsuccessfully tried to reach out to him in many other ways. This fight was her last resort. She was counting on the excitement of a fight with her to lure him out of his hiding. From what she had heard so far, she seemed to have stepped closer to success. But if she was wrong – if it was some other warrior who had bested her men, if some other warrior who was almost as good as him, but not him – then she stood to lose the biggest battle of her life.
In the soft light of the oil lamps, she paced restlessly in the makeshift tent erected on the right side of the stadium. Twice she had thought of sneaking a look at her opponent. Twice she resisted the thought.
She had been let down before. She had been foolish enough to get carried away at the mention of a skillful warrior. Everytime there was news of a warrior ascending to the next level of what had turned out be a historicalcompetition, she dared to hope it was him. Every time she watched the warrior lose to her General, her hopes shattered silently. If her General could defeat a warrior, so could she.
She was not vain. She was just a brilliant fighter. She had been trained by the best swordsmen in Yusmota. Her skills had been honed by her very own General. He had told her that it would take a man with a blade as light as a feather and the sprightly footwork of a wild cat to be able to win in a fight against her.
She had met her match in him – the man she loved. He flirted with his sword. His feet moved with a silent strength that matched the agile movements of his hand. Fighting with him had challenged her skills. The possibility of fighting with him once more excited her. The mere thought of their moon tipped blades touching each other brought a flush to her face.
She prayed to the Seven Gods that tonight she would not be disappointed. Tonight, she would find the man who could best her in a fight. On this fateful night she would find the man she was destined to marry.
They were dressed as commoners. At least on the outside. Inside they were wearing the black outfits that were created especially for the Zasandhara. The soft cotton cloth molded itself smoothly to the body and felt as light as second skin. The dark black of the cloth had made it easy for them to be swallowed by the night, often saving their lives in the process.
She settled next to a woman who was cradling a sleeping infant in her arms. He stood close to her. They had chosen this spot for its clear view of the fighting arena. Their duty was to witness the fight and carry its outcome to those who had hired them. Yusmota had maintained its independent status for too long. It had also kept Maurua barricaded from Aryan Vaeja by maintaining a rigid control of the singular pass which linked these two regions.
Yusmota’s rigid adherence to its code of ethics, to fairness, did not suit the greedy ambitions of the kings on either side of the ancient mountain range. Yusmota controlled trade, ensuring that both sides of the mountain region prospered. All the kingdoms on either side benefited equally. Equality might be the ultimate prize for those who fought for world peace, but those who wanted to conquer and rule the world believed in the power of differences.
