"Teacher, don't you think he would have too much of a head start if he is already king now? I haven't even built my army yet…"

Saying so, he glanced at the six thousand odd men behind him. His brows flickered with pain, an expression that felt odd to be seen on a child. He was not seeing men of steel, of great mettle who did not flinch when facing an army of the devil five times stronger than them in front. He was seeing a pile of bones…

It was true, this was a suicidal army. Chandra Kush assembled these mercenaries to fight to death until they subdued the barbarian forces. In the desert terrain, in the territory of the enemy, outnumbered five to one, this was already the most optimistic outcome. Still, the fact that these very six thousand odd men provoked thirty thousand odd barbarians to unite and face them is still a big feat. They were thirty thousand elites, not just any tribal soldiers! There was another reason why the barbarian chief took these outside invaders so seriously, but the ferocity and tactics of the mercenaries is not to be underestimated either. There had been many battles between the two sides already where using guerilla tactics, traps and other types of warfare strategy, the Aryan Kshatriyas already caused tremendous losses to the desert barbarians. And that ratio was not just five to one. Even if the barbarians lost their lives ten to one against each Kshatriya foreigner, it wasn't an uncommon event. Of course, such a thing is not possible in the open desert where these bastards have no place to retreat to and no place to hide. In this final face to face confrontation, the desert nomads sought to eliminate the threat once and for all…

Or be enslaved by them. As it was told in the prophecy.

To ten year old Chandra Kush, however, losing his men was tantamount to losing everything he already earned through his own blood and sweat. This was not his army, not completely, but even the rights to lead it were hard earned. Going on a suicidal battle to him was like losing the progress he made so far on the path of conquest that he chose.

Back then, when he was only seven, his teacher decided to follow this mercenary troop in their travels while they protected a trading caravan along a major new route. The caravan was so long that when one stood on top of a tall place and watched it travel, it took an entire month for it to disappear into the horizon. The caravan belonged to a major trading clan well known throughout the lands and whenever it stopped, needed an area as large as a moderately sized city to set up camp. It was extremely rich and its chiefs were some of the very few Kshatriyas who actually formed a trading clan (generally trading clans are controlled by Vaisyas, the merchant class). Because of that, it was no different than a moving little kingdom. The mercenary band was its army.

Although the caravan was so large, it wasn't easy to become its member. His teacher secured a place in it by performing The Empress, a dance that portrays woman as the primal ruler of the universe. It is one of the greatest classical dances of the Aryans, not commonly seen just anywhere. Only the purest of women were said to be chosen by the goddess who then bestows the dance on them. Even the people who get to watch this dance once in a lifetime were said to be blessed. A caravan that was always travelling is rare to come upon such a rare and exalted piece of art, even if it is perhaps the largest caravan in the world. Ashangi only performed the dance two times, but she was revered like a queen in the caravan. She was very popular.

When he was only seven, Ashangi threw Kush into 'the pit', a place where mercenaries gambled through fights during the evenings. It was a form of entertainment for them and also how they sharpened their individual fighting skills. Normal people were not allowed to watch these games, but, of course, special gambles were always accepted. Like a seven year old child fighting a grown man. Who wouldn't want to watch that?! These mercenaries weren't as savage as the barbarians, but they were still mercenaries. Not knights, not warriors of formal Kshatriya clans or heroes who followed the chivalric code. They just wanted to relieve their boredom.

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This was where Kush learnt all his fighting skills. There were some energy techniques which were exclusively taught by his teacher, so that he would have the minimum amount of strength required to beat a grown man. But he learnt the techniques needed to beat someone stronger through painful trial and error. The worst part of that training wasn't the injuries, it was hunger. His teacher would make various bets depending on his level, be it the amount of time he would last in the ring or the number of hits he would be able to block… If he didn't help her win those bets, Kush would starve! Then on the next day, he would have to finish all his lessons, his homework and energy training at a lightning speed and then run to the caravan to try various tricks so that he could earn his own bread! If he didn't get enough money to eat, his starved self would definitely lose once again and the cycle of horror continues. This meant Kush had to exert both his brain and his body every day to the very limits. Whether it is dealing with society and finding solutions to earning money or improving his fighting skills or remembering all the oral lessons his teacher gave him about various topics, it is impossible to think a little boy was able to do all that in a single day. But Kush did. Eventually it came to a point when his teacher was not just betting on how many minutes he will lost, but how many men he will win against. That was also when Kush actually fought with the troop's commander, the same man who spoke to him now. He couldn't win against him, narrowly losing in the end, but he still managed to earn the right to challenge the actual lord who owned the mercenary troop. He was an elusive man who was also part owner of the trading caravan. Some people say he didn't even exist, but of course, Ashangi knew he was a real person. An extremely powerful figure who was believed to be a divine incarnation of some unknown god! But the truth is, he was born in some remote mountain, without a drop of divine blood in him. This is what makes him so fearsome. Nobody knows the limits of his power or what divine element he represents.

Ashangi knew, of course, that there was no chance for little Kush to win against him. Not now, not even in ten years. But she knew a thing about that person that most others don't. He was exceedingly generous. One might have to pass through great hurdles to meet him, even insurmountable ones like defeating a hundred elite mercenaries one after another, plus facing off with their commander, but once one did get to meet him and impress him, that person would fulfil any wish one had. He was the reason why Ashangi brought Kush to that caravan. He was also the real audience that she performed The Empress for.

When he met the little boy, he didn't accept his challenge right away. Instead he said to Ashangi, 'This one's true face is a void. He had been cursed to wane by a choice that he made. I can't help him.'

Ashangi wore a plaintive expression for a moment. Her soft voice filled the stillness of the night.

'The moon has waned. Night remains dark.

Gods have left the mortal world. Aditya remains alone.

A graceful half has left the perch. Full moon desires to shine.

Shelter, O timeless knight.'

Her words were like a prayer. Seven year old Kush did not hope to understand the conversation between adults, but now he was mystified. But that man who looked like the spouse of beauty itself, a specimen of pure masculine perfection, he was even more moved.

He was moved by the words, moved even more by the woman. He knew that the 'graceful half' in the poem doesn't refer to her, but he felt like he found his own. Of course, he wouldn't show it. His perfect face covered up his emotion well.