Chapter Forty-seven


Jessie gritted her teeth and clung grimly to the door handle of the large dump truck in which she rode. Her feet were braced against the floorboards of the vehicle and she did the best she could to cling to the edge of the passenger seat with her other hand. Despite her best efforts, her head smacked the roof of the cab sharply as the truck hit another pothole. She wished fervently for a seatbelt.

"It would be better if we arrived all in one piece," she said to her companion.

Kefira jerked the wheel sharply to the left and then back to the right, causing Jessie to bounce off of the passenger door with a thump. "Do not worry," Kefira said cheerfully, "I have driven these roads many times. I have seen them much worse than they are today." She took the sharp curve in the road without so much as easing off of the gas. Jessie could feel the vehicle's wheels skitter in the loose gravel.

Jessie glanced in the side mirror desperately and then said, "We really shouldn't get too far ahead of the others . . ."

"Oh, Mr. Kumar will catch up soon enough. He has always driven this road much slower than is necessary."

Another pothole coupled with a series of S bends prevented Jessie from replying to that comment. She was beginning to understand Mr. Kumar's look of horror when Kefira had announced that she intended to drive the lead vehicle. There was no doubt that her new sister drove with a certain joie de vivre. Up ahead, Jessie spotted a crossroads. Planting her hand firmly on the roof of the cab, Jessie braced herself for the turn, but Kefira blew through the intersection without even slackening her pace. With a loud grinding of gears and a final violent thump, the truck hit pavement and Kefira ruthlessly applied the gas.

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to turn back there!" Jessie exclaimed. "Mr. Kumar said . . . "

"I know what Mr. Kumar said," Kefira replied, all trace of laughter now gone. "But I do not intend to go by the site of my parents' home. It is a waste of time."

"Kefira, he only wanted for you to . . ."

"I know what he wanted," she snapped, the sound of her anger ringing clearly in the enclosed space. "But my parents are dead. Standing beside the ashes of their bier being the grieving daughter serves no purpose. I cannot help it if Mr. Kumar is shocked that I do not choose to play this role. He will simply have to adjust to it."

"But . . ."

"I left that life behind when I made the decision to marry. It is Hadji and his goals I must concern myself with now." Jessie saw Kefira glance in the rearview mirror and then nod in satisfaction. "He has seen us and is following. If we keep up this pace, we should reach the foothills that border the plain where the munitions warehouse sits before lunchtime."

Jessie simply nodded and remained silent. Kefira had been strung tighter than a piano wire ever since Mr. Kumar had voiced his intention of leading the convoy out of the mountains and onto Subramanian lands. He had told Kefira that it was the logical thing to do since he was sure there were villagers hiding in the area that should be gathered into their group. Initially, Kefira hadn't said much, but when Mr. Kumar informed her a short time later that he also intended to take her to the site of her parents' burial, she had balked. Jessie wasn't entirely sure whether the reaction was a response to the man's flat statement that she would visit her parent's grave or to an innate dread of seeing the place where they had died, but whatever it was, the disagreement had been loud and acrimonious. It had ended abruptly with Kefira's sharp command for silence, after which she turned and stalked away in fury. A short time later, she commandeered the lead truck and announced her intention of driving. She was up into the truck and moving almost before Jessie could scramble in after her. Thank god the truck was only carrying supplies.

For a long time, the two rode in silence. Finally, Jessie said quietly, "You wanna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever is bugging you."

"There is nothing 'bugging' me."

"You can lie to anyone else you want to, but don't start it with me," Jessie replied sharply. "If you don't want to talk about it, then say so. But don't lie."

Kefira stared straight ahead, her mouth compressed into a hard, uncompromising line. "Fine. I do not wish to discuss it."

"Fine." The silence between them was strained.

Eventually, Kefira sighed. "Please, Jessie. I - I just have too much to think about right now. I simply cannot deal with anything else . . ."

"That's okay," Jessie replied, relaxing slightly. "I understand. Just know that I'm hear to listen when you need to talk."

"Thank you." Kefira gazed silently out the front window for a bit longer and then asked quietly, "What do you have planned when we reach the warehouse?"

Jessie shook her head. "I really don't know. It will depend on what we find when we get there. I'd like to believe that we could take it with as little loss of life as we did the mine, but I think that's hoping for too much. By this time, the Janissaries are bound to know something is up and unless they're really stupid, they're going to be ready for us this time. What can you tell me about the building and grounds of the place we're heading for?"

"Well, the building dates to the era of Queen Victoria. As I recall, a younger son of a British nobleman by the name of Lord Princeton built it sometime around 1850 as a residence and the main center of a plantation. As the story goes, Lord Princeton and his son did not get along very well and the young man had decided to get as far away from his father as he possibly could. He had brothers in the British Army based in India and decided to come here. But he had no more wish to be around his brothers than he did his father, so he journeyed from lowland India and ended up in Bangalore. The Sultan at the time . . . Hadji's great grandfather or great, great grandfather, I do not remember precisely . . . gave the young man permission to build there with the understanding that he would pay the Sultan an annual fee for use of the land. Mr. Princeton's intention was to raise cotton, pay the Sultan his lease fee out of the profits he expected to reap from selling the fiber to the mills in India, and become wealthy."

Jessie stared at her. "On cotton? Here? I didn't think agriculture was one of your mainstays. And how was he going to get it to the fabric mills in Calcutta and Bombay?"

Kefira grinned. "I did not say he was a smart British nobleman. The building sits at the base of the mountain foothills at one end of a large, flat plain . . . one of the few in the entire country. But it did not help him. We are at a high elevation, our growing seasons are short, and the soil is not well suited for agriculture. I would imagine that the Sultan knew he would fail, which was why he allowed the man to build there to begin with."

"Got himself a free residence out of the deal?"

"I believe that was the idea. When Mr. Princeton finally gave up and went home, the Sultan claimed the residence and used it as a retreat from the city. Both he and his son built onto it in succeeding years."

"So it's not small."

"No. The residence itself is constructed of stone and there is a high stone wall all the way around it. It's laid out like a British castle with several levels, turrets, and ramparts."

"How very medieval. Does it have a moat?" Jessie asked dryly.

"A moat?"

"Never mind. The thing must stick out like a sore thumb."

Kefira grinned slightly. "Yes, it does," she conceded.

"Well, it certainly limits our options for getting in." She frowned thoughtfully and finally shook her head. "I don't like it, but we may end up having to use the missile launcher again. If they're prepared for us, they're going to have the place shut up and be rigged for a siege. The missile launcher may be the only way of breaching the outer wall."

"Must we get into it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I see no strategic value in holding the castle. If we can eliminate it as a threat in the short term, then our goal of eliminating Birla will remove the later threat at the castle. Mercenaries hold the castle . . . lock them inside where they cannot come to the aid of their fellows, eliminate the stockpile of weapons if possible, and then allow them to remain where they are."

Jessie contemplated that idea thoughtfully. "It has merit," she said slowly, "but it's also very dangerous. It's possible that we won't be able to eliminate the weapons stockpile without taking the castle. If we leave them secure in the castle with an exterior guard and move on to Bangalore City, and then they manage to defeat their guard, we could end up caught between two strong forces."

"But we have much greater numbers . . ."

"Virtually all of them untrained. If that scenario played out, we'd be caught between two highly trained combat forces with generations of experience in exactly this type of warfare. It's not good odds, Kefira."

"I suppose not."

Jessie shook her head. "There's no point in speculating. We need to wait and see what we have when we get there."

Kefira nodded in agreement and they drove on in silence.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



It was nearing four o'clock the following day by the time Jessie, Kefira and Mr. Kumar found themselves crouched in the tangled brush about 1/2 mile above the storehouse. Jessie raked the building and grounds from one end to the other with field glasses while the two with her waited impatiently. Several yards behind them, the original group leaders crouched, waiting for directions.

Since their departure from the mine the preceding day, the number of people that traveled with them had more than tripled. Jessie had been correct . . . word had spread rapidly. Everyone they met asked eagerly if their group was that of the "Army of the Sultana". Without exception, they had clamored to join them, swelling their ranks to the point where they no longer had excess space in any of the vehicles and many traveled on foot behind the caravan. Kefira had willingly accepted anyone that wanted to come, drawing the line at women with small children and anyone under the age of 14. But even those people were given tasks, so in the end everyone seemed to feel they were contributing.

While the growing numbers were reassuring in terms of manpower available to fight, it had slowed their progress drastically. They had been forced to make regular stops along the way to provide rest for those on foot and that clung tenaciously to the roofs and sides of the vehicles, and getting going again seemed to take forever. Whenever they stopped, the people poured from the vehicles in the hope of seeing or talking with their new Sultana. Kefira moved through the crowds, speaking with everyone she could. Most often, what she heard were stories of murdered family members, missing children, burnt homes, and total devastation. Kefira listened sympathetically and spoke words of encouragement in the face of the grief and desolation, and the people responded to her immediately. She had literally gone from unknown to worshipped in the course of a few short days.

Through it all, Jessie was her constant shadow, always there and prepared to defend her. One incident around midday made Jessie very thankful she was, too. It was shortly after noon and Kefira had called a halt for rest and a meal. As usual, she was talking with the throngs of people that surrounded them. For some reason, Jessie had felt edgier than normal during this stop and she stuck close to Kefira. The single attacker struck from among the well-wishers. What it was about him that tripped Jessie's radar, she couldn't say, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly to him. He was moving almost before she had registered his presence, diving in low at Kefira with a wickedly sharp knife. Before anyone else even realized the danger, Jessie responded, intercepting the assassin before he could reach his target. People scrambled back, dragging Kefira with them as Jessie faced the man. He came at her, snarling in fury, his knife slashing at her belly with clear intent. She reacted without thinking, slipping clear of the blade and catching his arm in a smooth movement that left the man in front of her with his arm twisted up behind his back. He moved lithely, twisting away and putting space between them, but by then it was already too late. With a flick of her forearm, she shook the throwing knife in her right arm sheath loose and threw it with a snap of her wrist. The man dropped without a sound, the knife buried in his throat. The silence was complete as Jessie crossed the open space to her adversary. With one foot, she rolled him over onto his back, leaned over and freed her knife. After wiping it on the man's shirt, she straightened and scanned the crowd carefully. When she was satisfied, she returned the knife to its sheath and then turned to Kefira, who was carefully surrounded by a group of burly men. She bowed and said calmly, "It seems our enemies have heard of your arrival, Excellency. I believe it might be wise to begin posting guards." Kefira had moved out from behind her guards with admirable composure and agreed. From that time on, Jessie had acquired a new name. The people called her "Sultana's Sword". Jessie found it interesting that the name was always rendered in English, not Hindi, and supposed it marked her as an accepted outsider. It seemed both of them were gaining a reputation.

The sudden sound of footsteps behind them caused all three to turn sharply. A group of men . . . some of the scouts she had sent out earlier, Jessie realized . . . advanced toward them. Jessie was on her feet and in front of Kefira almost immediately, her gun drawn. Mr. Kumar and two other men caught Kefira's arm, drawing her behind them, completely hiding her from view.

In a low voice, Mr. Kumar called out, "What is it?"

The group of men split and Jessie saw a man being dragged along. One of the group leaders spoke up, "We found this one in the brush a short way from the encampment, sir. He is not from Bangalore."

Jessie's breath caught and she strode forward swiftly. The man hadn't received particularly gentle handling and he was barely conscious, hanging limply in the grip of two of his captors. She frowned at the men holding him.

"Was there a need to beat him?" she demanded sharply.

"This was not our doing, Lady. We found him lying in a ravine not far from here, looking much as you seen him."

Jessie caught his chin and lifted his head so she could see him clearly. Clouded hazel eyes stared at her dully from underneath a mop of curly brown hair that was liberally coated in dust. Streaks of blood marked his face and two black eyes, an angry bruise across his right cheek and a swollen lip testified to rough handling by someone.

"Who are you?" she asked him. "What is your name?" He looked back at her uncomprehendingly.

"C?mo se llama usted?" she tried again. Still nothing.

"Comment vous appelez-vous?"

Jessie shook his head gently and tried one last time, "Aapka naam kya hai?"

He blinked and some sense of awareness kindled. He frowned and replied haltingly, "W-who are . . . you?" He shook his head, wincing as he did so and added, "What did you say? I don't speak Arabic."

"That wasn't Arabic. It was Hindi. I want an answer. Who are you?"

The man got his feet under him and stood shakily. His captors allowed him to do so, but four sets of strong hands held him fast, providing both support and restraint. He wasn't a tall man, Jessie noted . . . around 5'10" or so, but he was strongly built with broad shoulders, a deep chest, and strong thick legs. He wore battered khaki shorts and the remnants of a shirt. A wealth of curly brown hair was visible on both his chest and legs. His feet were encased in sturdy, well-worn hiking boots. The few words he had uttered so far marked him as American.

"I'm a journalist," he replied. "Peter McCaffrey. I work for Newsweek."

"And what are you doing here?"

"What do you suppose? I'm working . . . . covering the story of the coup attempt. It's turning into big news. The rightful ruler of the country, who also holds U.S. citizenship, is missing, as is his mother, which is causing the U.S. to raise loud protests. The Indian government's choosing up sides against its neighbor and threatening reprisals if the Sultan isn't produced by the head of Bangalore's Advisory Council . . . the man who is reputed to be behind the coup attempt. The U.N.'s Commission on Human Rights is calling for inspectors, and the last I heard, there was supposed to be a vote of the Security Council last night to decide whether or not to send U.N. peacekeeping troops into Bangalore. This place is today's hot spot." He looked at Jessie speculatively. "So who are you?"

Jessie ignored his question, looking thoughtful. "That's a pretty abrupt escalation of foreign interest in a remarkably short time. Why?"

He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. It's one of the reasons I'm here."

"Where did the questions about the Sultan start?"

"Why should I tell you? Maybe you're a rival journalist-" A sharp jerk on his arm and an angry growl from one of the men holding him stilled McCaffrey abruptly.

Jessie contemplated him in silence for a long moment. "You say you're from Newsweek. You have I.D. to prove that claim?"

He shook his head. "I did have, but they took it." He gestured toward the castle at the edge of the valley.

Jessie stepped forward and searched him carefully, coming up totally empty. After a moment's reflection, she gestured to his captors. "Let him go," she commanded quietly. The men released him obediently, but one of them returned a hand to his elbow as McCaffrey swayed unsteadily. Catching his eyes with her own, Jessie said, "Mr. McCaffrey, you are in the position to be able to get the story of a lifetime. But if you want it, you're going to have to cooperate with me and follow my orders. Are you prepared to do that?"

He looked around and then unsteadily moved to sit down on a nearby boulder. Looking back at Jessie again, he replied as evenly as he could, "That depends. I still don't know who you are."

"Who I am really doesn't matter. What's more important is who she is." McCaffrey's eyes followed Jessie's gesture and widened as the group of men behind her stepped aside to reveal Kefira. "Mr. McCaffrey, may I present her Royal Highness, Kefira Singh, Sultana of the independent nation of Bangalore. Excellency, this is Peter McCaffrey, an American journalist with Newsweek magazine."

Kefira bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. McCaffrey. I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

"Sultana Singh!" McCaffrey tottered to his feet once more and attempted a bow. "Excellency, I am honored. I had no idea that you were here." Then he frowned in concern, sinking back onto the boulder again at her gesture. "It is not safe for you here, Excellency. Your enemies would give a great deal to get their hands on you, and those men are very close to this location."

Kefira smiled slightly. "Nonetheless, I am here, Mr. McCaffrey, and I do not intend to leave. I have business in the area that must be completed before I continue on to my destination."

McCaffrey hesitated. "If it's not impertinent, may I ask your destination?"

"I am traveling to Bangalore City to join my husband."

"The Sultan is in Bangalore City?" the man demanded, stiffening in concern.

"Yes."

"Excellency, this is not good news. Your enemies hold the city. If your husband is there . . ."

"Is there word that he has been taken?"

"Not that I've heard."

She smiled. "Then he is in Bangalore City and he is safe, and I must join him there." She gestured toward the structure that was hidden by the ridgeline. "Have you been to the castle, Mr. McCaffrey?"

Reluctantly, the man nodded. "Yes, I was their . . . guest . . . for a few days. Unfortunately, my co-worker is still there."

"You were held prisoner?" Jessie asked.

"Yes."

"What was . . ." Jessie began to ask, but Kefira interrupted her.

"Patience, sister. Our guest appears to have been ill-used. Let us return to the others and find him a place to rest. His story can as easily be shared over food and drink, which all of us need." She turned to one of the men near her. "Mr. Kumar, see that a guard is posted. We must be certain our enemies do not catch us sleeping."

Kumar bowed deeply. "It shall be as you order, Excellency. May I have the use of your Sword to ensure all is done appropriately?"

Kefira glanced at Jessie and nodded. "Go with him, sister. When you have finished, come to me so that we may plan our next move."

Jessie sketched a quick bow in acknowledgement and turned to follow Mr. Kumar toward the group of men that waited for them. With another smile, Kefira gestured to the American and said pleasantly, "If you will come with me, Mr. McCaffrey?"



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



As Jessie picked her way through the encampment about half an hour later, she could feel the tension humming like a overstretched wire. The next confrontation with their enemies was close and they knew it. Their hastily recruited forces spread across the floor of this small, hidden valley a bit like cattle. Jessie shivered as that analogy flitted across her mind. She hoped that they were not being readied for slaughter. The only sound was the occasional high call of a hunting hawk above them and the low murmur of subdued voices from the groups of people who sat or reclined on the ground trying to rest while they had the chance. She could feel their eyes following her as she threaded her way through them toward the center of camp where their truck served as the base of operations. Whenever she passed near one of the of clustered groups, they invariably rose and bowed respectfully to her. She had long since given up trying to make them stop . . . it was a battle lost before it was even begun. Now, she simply smiled and nodded as she strode past.

She spotted both Kefira and McCaffrey as she approached the truck. Someone had actually dug up a chair . . . God only knew from where . . . and he was half-sitting and half-slumped into it, his feet propped up on the running board of the truck. One of their resident field doctors bent over him, trying to tend as many of his injuries as she could. Kefira stood nearby, watching the man carefully as she spoke to one of their section leaders. Jessie noted that Kefira's self-appointed "royal guard" still hovered on the periphery and she heartily approved of their alert stance and restless eyes. One of them spotted her and she watched as that knowledge spread through their ranks like a ripple through a quiet pond. As she stepped into the clear space around the truck, she nodded at the man closest to her and he bowed slightly, acknowledging her. Then about half of the guards faded silently into the surrounding crowd. Like the changing of the guard, the responsibility for protecting their Sultana had just been passed back to her. Sensing her approach, Kefira turned and greeted her.

"Sister. All is well?"

"Yes, Excellency. Guards are posted with a reliable network of messengers ready to pass the word if there is any sign of trouble. I've also sent out scouts in search of the waiting Sipahi forces. Their orders are to locate them and notify their leaders of your arrival and desire to speak with them. If all goes well, we should contact them before nightfall."

"Very good." Kefira then turned to their new guest. "I apologize for the need, Mr. McCaffrey, but I believe we have allowed you all the rest we can afford at this time. I must now ask you to tell us what you know of the castle below."

The man nodded without hesitation. "I'll tell you anything I can. What do you need?"

It was Jessie who replied. "Anything you can tell us, particularly anything dealing with the number and nature of troops housed there, the security measures that are being taken, weapons storehouses. Whatever information you may have will help."

"Well, the numbers in the castle are substantially less than what you have here," Peter replied thoughtfully, looking out across the masses of people that moved throughout the valley floor. "But they are heavily armed. There's also a good-sized stockpile of weapons and ammunition."

"You're sure of that?" Jessie questioned.

Peter nodded decisively. "Yes. Four large trucks arrived while I was being held there and I watched them unload crates full of weapons and cases upon cases of ammunition."

"Could you tell what kind of weapons they were?"

"Not for certain. I saw a lot of rifles and handguns . . . machine pistols and assault rifles. That sort of thing."

"Missile launchers? Explosives? Anything like that?"

"Not that I saw, but I wasn't given a tour so they could have been there and I just didn't see them."

"How tight is their security?"

"They're expecting trouble, if that's what you mean."

Jessie shook her head and began to pace restlessly. "This doesn't sound good," she said to Kefira. Spinning, she strode over to one of the trucks and got something out of the cab. Returning, she handed Peter a pad of paper and a pen. "Diagram the layout of the castle for me. As best as you can remember it." As Peter took the pad from her, a movement caused her to straighten sharply. A man she recognized as one of the members of the perimeter patrol was crossing toward them leading a group of seven individuals she didn't know.

"Heads up, Kefira," she muttered to the other woman. "We've got company."

"The Siphai leaders?" Kefira asked, stepping up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jessie as they watched them approach.

"Maybe. You stay here for now and let me find out what's going on." Before Kefira could protest, Jessie moved forward to stand at the very edge of the clearing. She gestured to the men who had been standing guard around the area and six of them moved immediately to form a protective wall in front of Kefira. Jessie brought her gun around so it was resting easily on her right arm, at ready but not yet threatening, planted her feet firmly, and stood waiting for the approaching entourage. Approximately ten feet from her, the eight men stopped and the single individual she recognized bowed respectfully.

"Lady. As you requested, I have brought the leaders of the Siphai forces who are in the valley ahead of us guarding the Janissary stronghold. May I present to you Captain Sankar Gupta, head of the Sipahi forces, and his lieutenants. Captain, this is the Lady Jessica Bannon, named sister of the Sultana of Bangalore, military leader of our forces, and she who is known as the Sultana's Sword."

"Captain," Jessie said, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement and noting the man's obvious surprise and discomfort.

After an instant's hesitation, the man sketched a slight bow. The guard spoke up again after a few seconds of tense silence while the two assessed each other. "Your orders, Lady?" he asked diffidently.

Jessie flicked a glance at the man. "I want you to carry a message to all of the group leaders. I want them here two hours after nightfall for a meeting. Also, notify the encampment coordinators that we will be spending the night here. Noise is to be kept to a minimum and I want no fires set tonight. We are too close to the enemy not to be cautious. When you have finished that, get yourself a meal and then return to your post. I want to know if anything moves along the perimeter. Questions?"

"It will be as you command. Hail to the rightful rulers of Bangalore."

Jessie nodded and waved him away.

The seven men eyed each other uneasily, all of them staring at Jessie with mistrust. Finally, one of them said harshly in Hindi, "We are not here to speak with some woman who is a stranger to this country." His voice rang clearly through the late afternoon air, echoing in the silence. "This land has had its fill of foreigners interfering in our affairs. If this is the one who claims to be the wife of our Sultan, then I say that she is not fit to claim the title!" Around them, an ugly murmur rose from the crowd, and behind her, Jessie heard the soft whisper of steel against sheath as someone pulled a sword or knife. For a long moment, she allowed the challenge to go unanswered, simply staring at the men standing before her as the tense silence lengthened. Again, she felt the stir of movement behind her.

Turning her head slightly, she commanded, "Hold." The voice was quiet and firm, but it froze all of them. Turning back to the newcomers, she replied in the same language, "Did he say that I claimed to be the Sultana? Or give you any reason to believe I sought that position?"

The man who had spoken earlier glowered at her, opening his mouth to retort, but the Captain stopped him with a wave of his hand. "No," Gupta replied evenly, "he did not. However, he did state that if we came with him, we would be given the opportunity to speak with she who claims to be the Sultana. It was the reason we agreed to accompany him. If you are not she, then we ask that you produce this woman so we may judge for ourselves."

"And you have been duly appointed by the people of Bangalore to judge this woman's fitness to be the wife of your Sultan, is that it?"

"If she seeks to lead us into war, then yes, that is the task we have set for ourselves."

"I see." She looked at him for a moment longer and then said in English, "And I'll just bet you got it in writing, doncha?" The sarcasm was clear.

The man blinked. "I do not . . ."

"By whose divine grace was this burden laid, and what token do you carry that seals this fate upon you?" she responded formally, switching back to Hindi once more.

The man licked his lips uneasily, suddenly much less confident. He glanced around quickly, noting the massing crowd that now surrounded them. A palpable feeling of animosity was growing, and in the face of it, the man paled slightly.

"We are beset from within and without," he finally replied, his back stiffening in determination. "You cannot expect us to welcome as savior a woman who is little more than rumor and who asks that we throw ourselves heedlessly into war. The Sultan directed us to watch and wait, and not to act without his word. Our authority comes from him and we will hold to those orders until he returns and commands us differently."

A voice came from the crowd. "And so you would sit back and do nothing, allowing your own countrymen to be slaughtered by outsiders who were banned by the Sultan, while a power-hungry despot rises to the throne in the same fashion as Deepak and Vikram Singh?"

The voice was cold and uncompromising . . . inflexible in its anger and disgust. A sudden flurry of movement behind her almost caused Jessie to flinch. Don't do this, Kefira, she thought desperately. We need these men. They are the only ones we have that are trained to fight. Then, the other woman was there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jessie. A quick sideways glance at her face told Jessie exactly how furious Kefira was.

"You sit in the hills, hiding from the enemy, allowing them to fortify and arm themselves . . . allowing them to roam freely throughout the countryside, doing as they please - killing whenever and wherever they chose . . . and you hide behind the excuse that my husband told you not to move until he gave you different orders?!?" Her rage was like a living thing, growing deeper with each passing moment. "While you hide like cowards and do nothing, the people of this country are dying. Our children are being stolen from us, our wives and daughters are being violated, and our sons are being cut down . . . for no other crime than being born into this place at this time. My own parents were left dead in the dirt without honor or ceremony simply because they believed that all people should have the right to live without fear of being misused or slaughtered for another man's greed. And you . . . you come here to judge ME?" She thumped her chest sharply with her forefinger to emphasize her point, and as she did so, the blow dislodged the ruby pendant that had been tucked inside her shirt. It swung free and bounced against her jacket, the late afternoon sunshine catching it's facets and causing it to blaze into dazzling brilliance. Then Kefira turned away. "Send them away, sister. I will have no cowards in this army. It would be an insult to those who have fought and died with us."

"We are not cowards!" the first man who had spoken shot back in fury.

"No?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and anger as she glared back at him. "And yet you seek to judge me and hide behind orders, saying you will not fight. Get out! I will not have you dishonoring those with the will and honor to fight. And when this is over, I will return here with my husband so that you may be released from your orders. Perhaps that will once again give you courage." Then she spun on her heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd to their right.

Jessie sighed softly and then gestured to the men behind her. "Go. Make certain no harm comes to her."

"Should we attempt to bring her back, Lady?"

"No. She'll return when she's ready. Just keep her safe and out of trouble."

"As you command."

The crowd parted as four of the Royal Guard left swiftly to go in search of Kefira. Jessie turned back to the guardsmen in front of her to find Captain Gupta looking shaken. "She wears the Heart of Bangalore," he said hoarsely.

"Part of it," Jessie agreed. "The other half is now worn by the Sultan."

The man gave her a sharp look. "The stone has been split?"

"At the Sultan's bidding. Two parts to make a single whole. It is fitting, don't you agree?"

"We meant no disrespect," the Captain said carefully. "But you must understand that we are under oath to obey the orders of the Sultan. The last word we had from him commanded us to watch the stronghold, to report movements and activity, and not to precipitate a fight. We have held to those orders as we were directed." The man squared his shoulders. "We will not fight."

"I understand. It is vital in any army that soldiers obey their commander. But the time also comes when circumstances may force those same men to make independent decisions, is that not also true?" She waved the men toward the truck, turning to fall in beside Captain Gupta. Looking at the nearest guardsman, she ordered, "Send one out among the people. Tell them that there is no need for concern and that they are to relax and rest. Then, bring food and drink for these men. It is late and they are tired. Sit, Captain. The approaches are guarded and for a time, I believe we can feel secure." She glanced up and nodded to Peter McCaffrey, who now stood stiffly beside the truck, his sketchpad clutched tightly in one hand. She introduced the two men and then sank wearily into a chair, waving the others to do the same. The group was silent as several women materialized from the crowd, bringing bread, cheese, water, and strong black coffee. Jessie took the cup offered to her sipped from it, and then grimaced. Seeing the captain watching her, she shook her head. "I never have liked cold coffee."

A ghost of a smile showed at the corners of his mouth. "I am not certain I even remember what it tastes like served hot."

Raising the cup, she saluted him. "Here's to the day when we never have to drink cold coffee again."

Gupta returned the salute and then sighed wearily, leaning back in his chair. After a moment of silence, he said idly, "Your Hindi is very good."

"I've spoken the language for a long time."

"Forgive me for asking, Lady, but who are you? And how do you come to be leading the army of the woman who claims to be the Sultana of Bangalore?"

Jessie raised an eyebrow at him. "'Claims to be', Captain? Surely, you don't still doubt her identity?"

"Do I doubt that she is revered by the Sultan? No. She wears the Heart of Bangalore. There is only one place she could have gotten that token. But Sultana of this country? That I cannot accept. There are laws and traditions concerning how a woman may be chosen to be Sultana and what is proper conduct both before and after the marriage. They relate directly to the fitness of the woman to serve as Sultana and to bear the royal heir. And I will tell you plainly that any woman who places herself in front of men . . . who dresses as this woman does and who purports to lead men with either the intent to govern or to lead them to war . . . is not fit to be Sultana. She does not know her proper place."

Slouching down in her chair, Jessie sipped her coffee again and stared at the toes of her boots. Around her, she could feel the captain's lieutenants listening avidly. Raising her eyes, she looked at Gupta. His face was calm, but there was a stubborn set to his mouth that Jessie recognized. The cultural bias was firmly in place in this man and he would not be easily swayed. Finally, she shook her head and closed her eyes, allowing her head to drop backwards wearily. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Captain." Her expression was composed and there was a touch of sadness in her tone.

The two of them sat in silence, then, waiting to see who would make the next move. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Gupta shifted uneasily in the chair and said, "You still have not told me who you are."

"My name is Jessica Bannon."

"Should I know you?"

Jessie raised her head and shrugged slightly. "I've been to the palace often, so it's possible our paths have crossed at one time or another, but there's no particular reason for you to have known me before."

"You are a friend of the Sultan, then."

"You could say so."

When she offered nothing else, Gupta persisted. "How do you know him?"

Jessie straightened and reached for a piece of cheese. "I grew up with him. We have been friends since we were about ten years old." Then she pinned the man with her gaze. "And I am betrothed to his brother."

"The woman the Regent wished to be his wife."

Jessie snorted softly. "Neela can have some really strange ideas sometimes. I love Hadji dearly, but as husband and wife we would have driven each other nuts. Furthermore, Hadji knew from the beginning that I loved his brother. There is no way he ever would have interfered with that. No, he loves Kefira. They are good for each other and that is the way it should be."

"I am afraid that cannot be a factor. She is unfit. He will simply have to chose another."

"You don't know Hadji."

"He has no choi -"

"Captain, if there's one thing I learned a long time ago, it is that Hadji Singh always has choices. But that is beside the point. Hadji loves Kefira, he has already married her, and the marriage has been consummated. If the people of Bangalore are not prepared to accept her as his wife . . ." She spread her hands and shrugged eloquently. "Well, then I guess the Sultancy dies with Hadji, because this country will not get an heir from him by anyone else. It is that simple."

"He cannot . . ." he began stubbornly, but she interrupted him.

"Believe what you want, Captain. Only time will say which of us is right in this matter. At present, Kefira and I have one job and one job only. And that is to get to Bangalore City, find Hadji and his brother, and make certain that they survive Birla and the Janissaries. Now, you and your men can help us with that, or you can stay here in the hills and do nothing. The choice is yours."

"We will not fight for her," the man replied sharply. But then he seemed to hear what she had said and sat forward sharply. "Wait. Are you saying that the Sultan is at the palace? In the hands of Birla?"

"I do not know if they are in the palace or not. But I know that that they are in Bangalore City somewhere and I am certain that they have not been taken by Birla and his men. Beyond that . . . well, we will find out when we get there." Feeling someone at her shoulder, she looked up to find McCaffrey standing there. Wordlessly, he handed her the sketch pad. The diagram of the castle was rather sketchy, but it did give her a basic feel of the way the building was being used by their enemies and how entrenched they were. As she looked at it, an idea began to form. She looked up at the man sitting beside her and said, "Tell me, Captain, if I can give you a way to assist in taking that castle without violating your oath to the Sultan, would you be prepared to assist us?"



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



"NO! I forbid it!!!!!!"

"Kefira . . ."

"I will not permit it, do you understand me?! It is too dangerous."

The two women faced each other across the width of the clearing near the truck they had been using for a command center. Around them, on-lookers shifted uneasily as Jessie sighed in exasperation. "Kefira, listen to me. I've talked with at least a dozen people who know that castle inside and out." She gestured at two men who stood nearby. "Peter has been inside of it within the last 24 hours and Captain Gupta has been watching it closely for almost two months now. All of them agree. Our enemies are well dug in and can hold out against a frontal assault for longer than we have men to throw at them. It's a total waste to even attempt it."

"Then we will bypass the castle and go directly to Bangalore City!" Kefira responded fiercely. She stood ramrod straight, her fists clenched at her sides and her entire posture radiating anger and fear.

"No! Damn it, we've had this discussion. With the amount of firepower they have available to them, there is no way that Captain Gupta and his forces can keep them here. And we can't risk being caught between two sets of opposing forces."

As though unable to stand still any longer, Kefira began to pace. She stalked from one edge of the clearing to the other restlessly. "There must be another way, Jessie. I cannot accept that this is our only choice."

Jessie dropped into one of the camp chairs sitting near the parked truck, regret tugging at her. "I'm willing to entertain any ideas you might have, but I'm fresh out of inspiration." Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair while she rubbed her head wearily. "Kefira, our only other choice is to go for a war of attrition . . . hide out in the hills, utilize hit and run tactics, and try to whittle down their numbers. But you know that's not going to work. For one thing, the Janissary commander we sent to Birla may arrive in the city any time. If Birla sends out reinforcements, we'll end up being caught between two armies. We can't risk that here any more than we can risk it in Bangalore City. And have you forgotten about Dr. Quest?" The sudden stillness in Kefira's face tore at Jessie's heart. "If we don't find Jon and Hadji very quickly and get them back to Maine, Dr. Quest is going to die. We simply don't have the luxury of time. We have to end this and move as quickly as we can for the capital."

Unshed tears glittered in her eyes as Kefira looked at Jessie beseechingly. "Sister, I cannot sanction an action that is sure to get you killed. Please do not ask this of me . . ."

Jessie rose and crossed to stand squarely in front of her friend. "I'm not asking you to sanction it, Kefira. I knew the risks when I made the choice to come here. My job was to protect you, to lead your armies the best way I knew how, and to help you find Hadji and Jon. In this case, protecting you and leading your armies means doing whatever it takes to ensure a victory, while minimizing your exposure to danger. Throwing untrained men against an entrenched enemy that is sure to defeat us will only increase the risk to you and that's unacceptable."

"Then, if this is what must be done, send someone else. It does not have to be you!" Kefira insisted desperately, but Jessie simply shook her head.

"There is no one else. If this is going to work, we have to use the plastic explosives we brought with us, as well as whatever may be housed down there in the castle. I'm the only one who has enough knowledge to be able to do that, and so that makes it my job." Jessie reached out and grasped the other woman's shoulder in a strong, warm grip. "I'm not looking to commit suicide, sister. Two of the people I've talked with worked as servants in the castle for years. They've shown me ways of getting in and moving around that may not be watched. I'll slip in, plant the explosives, slip out again, and be back here before the explosions ever start." She tightened her grip and shook Kefira's shoulder gently. "This will work, Kefira. I swear."

The Sultana of Bangalore pulled free and turned away, walking to the edge of the clearing in silence. Men melted away, clearing a path for her, until she stood gazing out over the empty, moonlit landscape. Finally, without turning, she said heavily, "When we made the decision to come here to try to find my husband, I swore I would follow your judgment in these matters. Do not make me have to explain to him how I allowed the light of his brother's life to go to her death. Now go . . . before I change my mind."



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



How the hell do I get myself into these things? Jessie asked herself, plastering her back and shoulders to the cold stone wall behind her and trying to become one with the spiders, roaches, and various other creepy crawlies under the decrepit stairwell in a little-used section of the castle. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, was now beginning to look less and less viable. After the discussion with Kefira, Jessie had gone to the boxes that Mr. Kumar had stored in his truck and began searching for the plastic explosive they had gotten from Paul. It took her three tries to locate the correct crate and another longer search to find the detonators, which had been carefully stored well away from all of the other boxes. Mr. Kumar may not have known exactly what was in all of the containers she and Kefira had brought with them, but it was pretty obvious that he had a good idea.

Her plan was to slip into the castle undetected, set charges in the most vital areas, and then get out again before setting them off. A good idea . . . in theory, at least. Execution was proving to be another matter. The men in the castle were not of the same caliber as the local militia. Instead, they were professionals and were trained almost from birth to be soldiers. Discipline was deeply ingrained into them, and even though they felt secure in their stronghold, they were not being complacent. Guards were plentiful and they were alert and watchful. It was this watchfulness that had driven her into this nasty hiding place. She couldn't risk being detected . . . at least not until all of the charges had been set. Then, if she was spotted . . . well, regardless of what happened to her, the trip would not have been in vain.

Again she heard footsteps approaching, and she pressed further back into the darkness, willing herself into invisibility. The steps came level with her and then passed on by. She was just about to release the breath she was holding when they faltered and stopped. Then they began coming toward her once more. She tensed, preparing herself for a final, desperate bid for freedom, when the sound of a voice stopped her.

"There you are! I had wondered if you were going to join me or had decided to remain in the barracks."

The language was an eastern European dialect somewhat akin to Russian, and Jessie was able to pick up only about three words in five. But it was enough to make sense of the conversation.

"No, I was delayed because one of the lieutenants came with news. You heard that reporter managed to escape?"

"Yes, but it will be of no matter. He cannot go far. One of our reconnaissance parties will find him soon enough."

"It may be of greater significance than you would suppose. The other news is that one of the field captains . . . the one assigned to patrol the high passes in Panjal Province . . . stopped to see the commander just before sundown. It would appear that he met the enemy in a remote valley and there was a battle."

The first man snorted derisively. "So? What do we care if he routed a bunch of peasants?"

"But that is just the point. He did not. He was beaten . . . decisively beaten. Most of his men were killed and many of those that remained were injured. The terms of his surrender sent everyone but him out of the country. They will fight no more in this conflict."

There was naked shock in the first man's voice as he replied incredulously, "Beaten? But how can that be? These people have no skill in warfare . . ."

"It appears they have a new leader . . . one with expertise in fighting and who has brought in weapons that make her a formidable adversary."

"Her?"

"According to the captain, the leader is the Sultana of Bangalore, herself."

"But I thought there was no Sultana. The ruler here had not married . . ."

"I would say that we were misinformed. Apparently, not only is there a Sultana, but she is able to rally the people around her and direct them effectively. The Commander also told our leader that the people who follow her are fanatical and are out for our blood. I would say that the Captain's policies of maiming and destroying everything in our path, regardless of whether they are civilian or military in nature, may be coming back to haunt us."

There was an extended silence, as if the two men paused to consider the significance of that statement. Finally, Jessie heard one of them take a deep, shaky breath. "I know the man who had been assigned to lead the forces in Panjal Province. I served under him for a time. He is a wily and skilled leader and I have never known him to be beaten on any field of battle. That he should have lost here . . . of all places . . ." There was a brief silence again before the man continued. "Where is he now?"

"Gone. It seems that part of the terms of his surrender were that he carry a message back to our Captain and our employer. He paused only long enough to pass on the news so that we would be warned, and then he continued on toward Bangalore City. I have been sent to bring the sergeants back to a meeting so that we may rethink the defense of this citadel. It is almost certain that we will be attacked in the very near future and our commander wishes to be ready."

"Then let us go quickly. I would know more of this." Two sets of footsteps faded quickly into the distance and after a time, there was nothing left but silence.

In the darkness, Jessie's smile was feral. The Commander's timing couldn't have been better. Sliding out of her hiding place, she looked around carefully and then began moving swiftly. She had a job to finish . . .



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



The royal guardsmen watched uneasily as Kefira paced like a caged tiger along the edge of the cliff face overlooking the valley and castle below. Her movements were tight, as though she fought to rein herself in, and the tension that gripped her was like barely restrained lightning on the front edge of a storm. Back and forth . . . back and forth . . . one moment staring at the ground in front of her, and the next out over the valley into the blackness of night and the brightly illuminated castle below.

"Excellency, perhaps it would be wise if you were to move a bit further back from the edge . . ." The uncertain voice trailed away as the brilliant moonlight allowed him to see the sharp, wordless look Kefira shot at him. It silenced him just as effectively as a blow. The man faded back into the darkness and she returned to pacing once more. A short time later a new voice interrupted her.

"Lady, it will not do to exhaust yourself needlessly." Kefira spun, searching the dimness for the source of the voice. "Please come away from here."

Spotting the man, she turned back to the valley once more. "I cannot rest, Mr. Kumar. Not until this is over and my sister has returned. What time is it?"

"Nearing 2:00 a.m., Excellency." With a soft sigh, the man stepped forward and caught her arm in an insistent grip. "Kefira, there is nothing you can do. You must take the opportunity to rest while you can." There was a brief pause. "It is what she would want you to do."

Kefira's eyes locked with Kumar's and for an instant, the poised young Sultana was gone . . . replaced, instead, with the bruised, bewildered gaze of an emotionally-battered child. He stepped forward quickly and put an arm around her shoulders, bending his head forward so he could hear the tiny, choked voice. "My parents, my brother, my countrymen . . . and now my new sister . . . How many more must I watch die . . . "

Kumar drew her into his arms and held her tightly, closing his eyes against the sound of her pain and anguish. Poignantly, he remembered the child who used to follow her father around the family's mines . . . a child full of light and laughter, fascinated by everything going on around her. He grieved for that lost, innocent child, knowing that life had changed irrevocably for her. She would never be able to forget the events of the last few days, and she would never hesitate to acknowledge her part in the deaths of so many people. Necessity existed and she had done what she had to do, but Kumar knew her well enough to know that the souls of the dead would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Come, child," he murmured to her softly. "You must rest . . ."



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



Jessie pressed the detonator firmly into the block of plastic explosive, molding it carefully around the device to ensure that it remained firmly in place, and then slid the entire block into the space created by the missing stone in the back wall of the castle. This was the last one. She had planted explosive charges in three separate places in each of three different munitions storage rooms, in strategic spots along three of the four major walls of the castle, and at the base of all four of the staircases leading to the upper levels of the structure. She checked her watch. 2:57. She had a little over 30 minutes before the first two charges went off. They were small and set deeply in the old wing of the castle. They were designed to draw the garrison's forces rather than to kill or drive them from the fortress. The next to go would be the weapons caches, then the stairwells, and finally the walls of the structure, hopefully coming down on the heads of as many of their enemies as possible.

Nausea stirred as she briefly considered what she was doing. It was as if some part of her was a cold, calculating machine, ruthlessly seeking ways to inflict the most damage, while a completely separate part looked on in horror, helpless to stop the actions. For an instant, she leaned against the wall and stared at that small package of death, wondering if she was going to be able to live with herself when all of this was over. Unbidden, other images rose in her mind's eye . . . a sobbing young man, on his knees next to the body of a woman whose staring brown eyes would never see the sky above her again . . . a child of no more than seven who stood amidst the smoking rubble of a house, shell-shocked and lost, with no where to go and no one left to care for him . . . an old woman, so twisted with arthritis she could barely stand, valiantly trying to protect the newly born child whose mother lay at her feet, pinned to the ground by a sword through her ribs. With a soundless sob, she thrust herself to her feet. She had no time for this. There was still one more thing she had to do before she could return to Kefira and the others and she was running out of time.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~



"She is asleep?"

Tarang Kumar turned from the truck to find Captain Gupta at his shoulder. He stared at the man briefly and then shrugged, moving away from the truck quietly.

"She rests, however I doubt that she sleeps."

"I need to speak with you, Mr. Kumar."

Kumar eyed the man for a long moment, then gestured and moved out of earshot of the truck. Turning back to him, he asked, "What is it that you wish to say?"

"This is madness! Surely, you must see this. " Gupta gestured back toward the truck. "She is a woman and little more than a child. She has no idea what she is setting in motion here. We must put a stop to it before she gets all of these people killed!"

"She is Sultana of this country. These people are hers to dispose of as she sees fit," Kumar responded coldly.

"She is NOT Sultana! Her every action shows that she is unfit for such a role! To believe she can lead men into battle -"

"She has already done that . . . several times. And she has won every time, as well. Yes, we have lost people. But far fewer than you would expect, given that we are forced to send farmers and peasants up against trained soldiers."

"So you condone slaughter?"

Fury flared in Kumar's eyes and he began advancing on Gupta with a tigerish tread. "Slaughter? What do you know of slaughter? You sit in these hills, hiding from the enemy . . . keeping watch as the Sultan ordered, you say . . . and never see fighting, while I've watched as men kill, maim and torture in the name of greed." Gupta fell back a step in the face of the man's rising voice and sudden rage. "Do you want to know what slaughter is, Captain? Slaughter is an entire village ransacked and torched, it's male children stolen to feed the ranks of the enemy, their mothers and daughters defiled and left for dead, and its men shot down without ever having the chance to defend themselves. Slaughter is an honorable man and his wife shot and left lying in the dirt without benefit of grace or dignity simply for daring to say that a poor farmer deserves better treatment that being stripped of his goods and family, and starved to death so that an already wealthy man can have even more money. Slaughter is filling a house with women and children, locking them inside, and then setting fire to it for the sheer joy of watching it burn!" Kumar stopped, breathing heavily, the force of his rage causing him to tremble visibly. "Kefira Singh knows more of slaughter than you or any of your men ever will, and none of you are fit to share the same space with her!"

Out of the darkness, Kefira suddenly materialized at Kumar's side. Catching his arm in a tight grip, she said gently, "Peace, Mr. Kumar. There is no point in fighting amongst ourselves." Reaching up, she placed a hand against his cheek and forced him to look down at her, breaking his ferocious eye lock with the Captain. "The advice you gave me recently was sound. You are also tired, my friend. I want you to go to your bed and try to sleep in what little time we have remaining."

"But . . ."

"There is nothing more you can do here." She smiled at him. "I thank you for your care. You served my father for many years and continue to do so even after his passing. I am grateful. Now go. I will speak with the Captain." She saw him about to protest again and seemed to read his mind. "I am safe enough. The guardsmen are at hand. You need not worry. Go on. I will send for you when the time comes for us to leave for the city."

With a final, side-long glower at the Captain, he bowed to her and then walked away. When the night had swallowed him up, she turned back to the other man who stood warily a short distance away. "You must forgive him, Captain. Grief is still too near the surface and it claws it's way free to vent against others at times." She gestured toward the chairs that still sat near the cab of the truck. "I would offer you coffee, but we build no fires this close to the enemy. I can offer water, however, if you have the need."

"No," the man replied, following her reluctantly. He sat in the chair and she indicated and after an awkward moment, he asked, "Has he lost family recently?"

Profound sorrow flicker across her face. "Yes. His wife died some years ago giving birth to his daughter, Ramani, leaving him to raise his son and daughter alone. He served my father closely for many years, just as his father served my grandfather. He and his children spent much of their time with our family, as Nasim was the same age as my younger sister, and Ramani was only a year older than my youngest brother. When Mr. Birla and the Janissaries came, Ramani was locked in my family's home along with all of the other women and children of the house. The Janissaries killed my parents and burnt our home with all still inside. It was Mr. Kumar that carried my parents to their biers and sent their spirits to the next life. You must allow him the right to hate our oppressors, Captain. I do not believe there is anyone alive who has more cause than he does."

Captain Gupta licked his lips and stared at Kefira in the moonlight. "You say that Mr. Birla had a direct hand in these murders? Were you there?"

"No. I was out of the country at school. But he was there, leading the Janissary force he brought with him. He was seen and recognized." She held up her hand, stopping him before he had the chance to say anything else. "I owe you an apology, Captain. I should not fault a man for acting in an honorable fashion. My husband gave you your orders and you have followed them faithfully. Nor will I ask you to break them now. Providing my sister is successful in what she attempts to do, at dawn we will continue on to Bangalore City in search of my husband. I ask only that you remain here and keep watch. Should our enemies manage to put together a fighting force and move to follow us to the city, send word to me so that we can be prepared. Can you do that?" Slowly, the man nodded. She sighed softly. "I also know that you cannot find it in your heart to acknowledge my marriage to our Sultan."

"I believe there are some traditions that must remain, Lady, or as a people, we cease to be who we are."

Kefira nodded. "I understand. I would have you know, Captain, that my husband and I tried very hard to follow the dictates of tradition. That we were unable to do so . . ." She shrugged eloquently. "Well, I suppose there were many factors that made it impossible. But I do love him very much."

Gupta leaned forward urgently. "Then if you love him, Lady, you must step back . . . denounce this marriage as improper and free him to take a wife that will serve both him and the country properly. Surely, you realize that your actions have shown you unfit to be Sultana? The wife of the Sultan has a place . . . a very specific role to fill . . . and tradition has outlined that role very clearly. For you to act as you have done . . ." He shook his head. "It undermines the very foundations of who we are as a people and each individual's place in the structure of our society."

Kefira sighed and shook her head. "Times change, whether we wish them to or not. You tell me that my actions make me unfit to rule, and yet had things been different and Haresh Singh had died before Hadji was born, you would have supported Deepak and later Vikram, without a second thought . . . even though both men were blatantly unfit to rule and gave absolutely no thought to the best interest of the people at all."

"You cannot know what sort of rulers Deepak or Vikram would have been if they had come to power in the proper fashion," Gupta tried to protest weakly, but faltered at Kefira's soft, amused snort.

"Come, Captain. Let us not hide behind absurdities. We both know that neither of those two men had an ounce of goodness anywhere in their black hearts. They were greedy and lusted for power from the day they were born. But this debate gains us nothing. The choice is my husband's to make. Let us leave it at this. When our enemy is defeated, I will see that you are brought before my husband so that you may make your arguments. If he sees merit in them and believes it to be the best for our country, then I will step aside without protest and submit to whatever judgment the Sultan and the High Council see fit to levy against me. But in the meantime, I ask that within the scope of your orders from my husband, you support, or at least do not interfere, with me so that I may do all in my power to locate the Sultan and return him to his throne."

Slowly, Gupta bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I agree, Lady. We will -"

But before he could finish the sentence, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. The two of them exchanged started looks and Kefira rose hastily from her chair. The murmur of rising voices surrounded her as Kefira pushed her way through the crowds back toward the edge of the cliff face overlooking the valley. She could feel Captain Gupta close on her heels. She skidded to a halt not far from the edge and looked down on the castle. Everything appeared to be quiet. She turned and exchange a puzzled look with the Captain.

"We did not imagine that, did we Captain?"

"No, Lady. There was definitely someth-"

And in that instant, the night seemed to erupt in fury. A violent explosion reverberated through the air and caused the very rock beneath their feet to tremble. For an instant the castle seemed to expand in the harsh glare of the manmade lights that surrounded the structure. Then, a sheet of yellow-white fire shot skyward as the stones of the building were flung outward into the dark. Another explosion rocked the structure and the outer walls began to crumble in on themselves. Fires rose to engulf all areas of the huge complex and on the outer edges, dry grasses and trees began to smolder and then burst into flames. From somewhere in the heart of the burning ruin, the sounds of gunfire began to sound and the two on the cliff face flinched back.

"Ammunition," Gupta murmured shakily. "The fire is setting off the stored ammunition. By all the Gods, she did it!"

Beside him, Kefira stood still as stone, staring down at the devastation. Tears fell unheeded, as she whispered in agony, "Sister . . ."

Gupta looked at her in confusion, stunned that she did not appear pleased about this latest success. Kumar suddenly materialized at the young woman's back, catching her shoulders and cradling her against his chest, as his eyes met those of the Captain.

"She was to be back before the explosions began," he reminded Gupta bleakly. "If she has not returned, it can only mean . . ." His voice trailed off, and finally, he turned and drew the sobbing Sultana away into the night.