The carriage rolled on, the bolts of lightning and crackles of thunder making itself known under the mist induced by the monsoons. The only thing Mayur could see was the muddy trail ahead, the dirty soil flanked by the lush green grass. It was as if the land itself was telling him to run away before he encountered danger, for the path he treaded wasn’t the… greatest of options.
“Are we close, sire Meethi?” Mayur asked, a warm mist escaping from his mouth. He turned, facing the indigo-clad warrior setting beside him, making sure there weren’t any sort of inconveniences in the way.
“Yes, we are.” The man’s name was a bit odd, but it didn’t matter since Mayur’s name was much more out of place in these parts of Ajaad. After all, he was an Asmaani merchant searching the Lohaani lands for riches.
“How are you holding up? Mansur?”
He turned, facing the interior of the carriage where a single candle flickered within in. Inside were the man’s immediate family and huddled around him in a Baukan cloth blanket —of red, white and dazzling orange— were his three grandchildren.
“The little ones are asleep,” he said, giving Mayur a grin. “Hopefully these kids have a place in Lord Gahkhar’s city. They’ve suffered for too long back there.” He then gave the sleeping boys a sorry look, making sure not to wake them.
“There!” whispered Meethi, pointing in the distance. Mayur turned, gazing as the walls of a grand city entered into visage.
A crackle of thunder escaped the clouds above.
These walls seemed battered, as if they’d just been abandoned.
“What… what happened.” As they saw more of the walls, Meethi’s face grew more pale.
Bricks and dirt holes laid to their right side and loose stones and broken Afraari weapons laid on the left.
“The Afraaris must have failed their siege?”
“If that’s the case..” Meethi said, pointing towards the shattered wall. “How’d a wall collapse?”
Mayur shrugged. “Cannons probably.”
“The Afraaris? Cannons?” asked Meethi. “And why are you so calm, merchant?”
Mayur raised a flat hand, countering Meethi’s accusations. “I’m exactly that, my good sire. I am a merchant —cold, cunning, calculating— and wherever I see profit, I strike. I don’t care for who I deal with.”
He then pointed towards the walls. “I see two possibilities. Either the Afraaris died trying to take the city, or they won. And it seems one can’t decide because of the all the blood laying on the ground for the rain to dilute into the dirt.”
Meethi frowned, then gave a sigh. “Apologies merchant.”
“No no, it’s alright.” Mayur gave a bright smile. Another jolt of lightning descended from the distance. “People say those sorts of things to me all the time anyways, it’s not like you were the fir—
“Who goes there!” shouted a voice in Lohaani. Mayur hushed, signaling the horses to stop. He could hear horses rush closer, revealing themselves under the harsh weather and blocking Mayur’s path. A man stepped forward, donning an indigo turban with a green band, a symbol of the Vhaddawalia household. “Identify yourselves!”
“I am Meethi ka Gahkhar and this here is Mayur ke Asmaan and behind us is the family of Mansur za Surajpur.”
The man approached cautiously, eying towards Meethi. “Can you confirm you are a member of Gahkhar’s warband?”
“Yes.” Meethi took out a piece of paper and presented it to the warrior. “The seal is the Gahkhar family’s.”
“I see…” The man signaled his men to pull back. “You may go through.”
“Thank you,” said Meethi, nodding towards Mayur. “Let’s go.”
Mayur replied with a nod and whipped at the ropes, hearing the horses neigh before trailing down the sullied path.
“Be prepared, merchant.” Meethi gave him a worried look. “Lord Gahkhar might not be… in the best of moods. Not after this.”
ENTERING THE GAHKHAR GROUNDS AND EACH RECEIVING BATHS FOR A HANDSOME PRESENTATION, THE TRIO WALKED ALONG THE PATH LEADING TO THE HALL OF PUBLIC AUDIENCE, HIDING UNDER THE COVER OF THE PALACE AS THE RAIN COLLECTED BESIDE THEM.
“Are you prepared?” asked Meethi, giving a look.
“Worry not Meethi,” said Mayur, waving his hand. He turned to the two servants behind him, carrying a chest. “Everything’s in order.”
“I see… how about you, Mansur za Surajpur?”
“I am fine, warrior Meethi. Though these clothes seem a bit too… luxurious for my status.”
Mayur wore a new set of Asmaani clothing, while Mansur wore a courtly white dress. Meethi wore his indigo uniform, though this time it wasn’t a courtly dress, but a warrior’s uniform.
Do not worry, besides this one time, Lord Gahkhar doesn’t really care how one presents themselves unless it’s a formal occasion.”
“If you say so,” replied Mayur.
“I appreciate your help, warrior Meethi.” replied Mansur.
They stopped before the large doors.
“Warrior Meethi!” announced the guard. “Are these two Lord Gahkhar’s guests?”
“Yes.”
“Understood.” The man, along with his companion, pushed the gates to the audience hall in a spectacular fashion. Mayur watched as the light from within seeped into the cold damp weather outside, as if accepting their entry with a radiating brilliance.
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They entered, each one taking a step at a time and basking in the warmth the room had to offer. And directly ahead of them was Lord Gahkhar, sitting on the same seat where Iqba Suhliq had once sat, but in a more darker, colder time.
Each one of them kneeled to the carpet, kowtowing before the lord of Gahkhpur.
“Praise be to the 17th Lord Gahkhar! Lord Bhagat Gahkhar the Liberator! Grandson of Gurman Gahkhar! Son of Ishaan Gahkhar!” shouted a scribe sitting beside Lord Gahkhar. Mayur and the rest of the men raised themselves, sitting cross-legged on the floor before him.
“Meethi,” began the man. His voice was austere, confidant and perhaps a bit cold. “Did you finish your task?”
“Yes I did My Lord.”
“Good.” He then turned his gaze toward Mayur, his cold black eyes wandering between himself and Mansur. “Are these two the men from Surajpur?”
“Yes My Lord.”
“Speak then. Who are you two?”
“I am Mayur ke Asmaan, a merchant hailing from Diwan.”
Lord Gahkhar gave him a stiff nod.
He turned his gaze leftwards.
“And you are?”
“I am Mansur za Surajpur, once the lead armaments smith for the Lothaars.”
“I see…”
There was a peculiar silence that pervaded the room with those two words. Mayur watched as the man closed his eyes, as if calculating his next steps.
“I shall accept Mansur za Surajpur in my service; however, Mayur ke Asmaan…”
He waved his hand into the air and a servant hurried over, handing him a glass of milk.
“I heard you went through a scuffle back in Surajpur.”
How did he know… Mayur gulped. The man in front of him wasn’t so simple after all.
He raised the milk glass. “If the milk is each and every person of Lohaan, then tell me. Why should I accept an outsider into my ranks? Why should I let my milk go bad?”
Those words sent a shiver down Mayur’s spine. He narrowed his eyes, plotting something in his mind. The people of Lohaan are the milk and if I were to join it’d only sully the glass?
It was a riddle.
“I await an answer,” said the lord, sitting calmly in his seat. He gave the glass back to the servant, who placed it before Mayur.
The people of Lohaan are the milk and if I joined the milk it’d only sully it.
That meant many things. For one, it meant he wasn’t welcome in Lohaan, but the way Lord Gahkhar phrased it made it seemed like that was the first message. If he had understood it right, there was a deeper meaning to those words and there was only one way to find out.
He turned around, motioning the servants to rest the chest in front of Lord Gahkhar. He then took off his signature cap and pulled a key out, twisting the lock binding the chest open.
“If I may,” he began, taking a spoon and placing it into the bag of sugar he had brought from Asmaan. He placed the spoon full on the servant’s hand to eat, ensuring the package wasn’t poisoned.
“It is fine,” the servant replied.
He then took another spoonful and drowned it into the milk, swirling the fluid in the glass to make sure the sugar was distributed appropriately.
“Perhaps I can’t be a part of the milk,” he continued, watching as the servant handed the sugary drink to Lord Gahkhar. “But I can make the lives in your glass of milk sweeter. That much I can do.”
The room fell silent once again. Mayur’s gaze wandered, his heart beating as if he were reliving the day he had been sent off from the bustling streets of Diwan. The candles stilled, their wild flickers subsiding as he held his breath in, awaiting the lord’s response. Lord Gahkhar simply took a sip from the drink and swirled the milk in his glass, ignorant of the struggling emotions gripping Mayur’s conscious.
Had he done the right thing?
“Sweetening the milk…. hm?” He gave Mayur’s words a pause. “You’ve answered my challenge and you did it exactly how I wanted.”
He rose from his seat, the scribe beside him doing the same thing.
“Servant, take these three to the lunch halls for a meal, I have another matter to attend to.”
“Yes My Lord.”
Lord Gahkhar stepped down the dais left through an adjacent doorway.
“Come guests,” began the servant. He picked the glass of milk and gave a warm smile. “I shall escort you for a grand meal.”
----------------------------------------
I am dead, the lord’s going to poison me. Avignon walked down the halls, flanked by two of Lord Gahkhar’s warriors who were a whole foot taller than he was. I swear it.
They turned the corner, watching as they approached doors guarded by two other warriors.
“Lord Gahkhar requested a private dinner with this foreigner… Avug… Avug-naan?”
Avignon cringed at their words. It’d be better if they just called me foreigner instead.
The two guardsmen nodded, opening the doors for the three to enter. The room itself was rather exquisite, with a oriental carpet laid on the stone floor and an exquisite table that held a grand meal. Sitting at the head was Lord Gahkhar, donning his red dress that held trace colors of indigo and white.
“Ah, foreigner Avignon,” he said, donning a smile and gesturing towards the him. “Please, sit over here.”
Avignon gulped. There’s only one seat and it’s next to him.
Millions of thoughts ran through his head. He might be killed from behind or whatever he ate or drank was laced with a poison so mortifying it’d only have comparisons to the Violet Death back home. The warriors nudged behind him, signaling him to take his place next to Lord Gahkhar.
He complied, knowing full well that whatever came next would best be left to God.
“Thank you Lord Gahkhar… for this opportunity.” He clasped his hands in the Azaadi tradition. Though I don’t want to die. I can’t.
A servant hurried over, pulling the seat back for Avignon to sit. He then pulled the chair forward himself. The guards, once stuck to him, now watched from the distance as Lord Gahkhar picked off a piece of bread from his platter and, dipping it in some sort of sauce, ate it.
“Ah this is very good, I can’t believe it came out this way!” he said excitedly, he glanced over towards the mortified Avignon. “Please Avignon, have a bite. The drink is also very fine, it’s an alcohol that had been left in Suhliq’s possession.”
Avignon gulped, using his shaking hand to pick the glass from the table. It was a violet color.
Wine? Quickly those thoughts he had swarmed his conscious. The Violet Death…. I am going to be p… poisoned!
“Is there something wrong?”
Avignon glanced towards Bhagat, who simply swirled his wine, unfazed.
He’s going to kill me anyways, my powers are a threat to him. Avignon gulped. “Yes… I believe you’re going to kill me with the poison in this wine. So I cannot, in good conscious, drink it.”
In an instant Bhagat raised a brow. “How dare you!” shouted a warrior, approaching Avignon. “How dare you insult My Lo—
Lord Gahkhar raised his hand. “Valid point.”
He then placed his glass of wine on the table and motioned Avignon to do the same. So he did. Lord Gahkhar then took Avignon’s own glass and drank the alcohol to the last drip and gently placed the glass back to the table.
Nothing happened.
The burden plaguing Avignon’s mind lifted in an instant, instead replaced by a bewilderment from the young man’s action. “Do you trust me now?” he said smiling, his expression warm and posture confident. “I have no plans to ever use poison. It’s the most cowardly thing I could do. If I wanted to kill you, I would have simply drowned you while you were unconscious. Instead, I treated your wounds because I knew I needed your talents.” he smiled. “You must have understood by know that I appreciate having people from differing life paths in my service. It is because it’s the only way we can bring Lohaan to a new future. And that future starts now.”
He motioned his hands and a different servant approached, holding a piece of paper in his hands. Quickly, he placed the sheet of paper for Avignon to read over and rested a peacock feather and ink to his side.
“This contract is to become my personal servant for a period of five years. You’ll be paid two gold a month, plus accommodation should you choose to accept. In addition to this, you’ll act as my counsel and you will obey my commands, including an explanation in regards to what that ability you have does. You will, as a result, be addressed by the surname ‘ka Gahkhar’ to signify which household you pay your allegiance to. Do we have a deal?”
They stared at one another for a brief moment, Avignon digesting whatever the young lord had spoken. He then looked over the contract in his hands and breathed to control his racing heart.
This paper… He picked the peacock feather from his side and dipped it in ink. It’s exactly what I needed.
And he signed the paper with his signature and date.
“Good,” said Lord Gahkhar, waving his hand. Two servants rushed over, one taking the document and the other the ink and peacock feather. He then brought his gaze back to Avignon and gave a smile. “Let us enjoy this meal Avignon ka Gahkhar, because starting tomorrow we’ll need to begin our work.”