Chapter 7: Kastha's Throne

In which Timir's sword catches Lord Kastha's eye and Dwara asks Timir to keep his promise.

Jun 01, 2026

Trivikram bowed before the throne and took his place next to it. Lord Kastha made no acknowledgment of his presence. Instead, he spoke to his visitors in a voice much unlike the one Timir and Dwara had heard booming by the gate. It was a cold rasp that somehow still carried across the vastness of the chamber.

“Your name, Aramban?”

Instead of answering, Timir started walking towards the throne, taking his time and admiring the chamber’s decorated walls as he did so. Trivikram stirred at Timir’s insolence, but Kastha calmed him with a gesture.

“My name is Timir, Lord Kastha,” he said at last, face to face with him.

“And what brings you to Yamuk all the way from Aramba?”

“We Arambans like to travel, as you very well know.”

“I know it only too well. There was a party of your people here not long ago, led by a jadukar by the name of Heerak. They wished to make Yamuk theirs.”

“I take it they did not succeed.”

“I still sit this throne, do I not?”

“You do indeed, but you should not.”

Trivikram gasped, and lifted his axe to grasp it with both hands. Timir chuckled. “Your dog growls for no reason Lord Kastha. I only meant that this is not a throne. It cannot be.”

“How do you mean?”

“You sit surrounded by daitya craft. This room once housed giants. The weapons that decorate your walls are too heavy for any mortal. Yet, your throne is small enough to seat a man, small enough even to seat a small man such as yourself.”

“Why must that mean that I cannot sit this throne?” A note of agitation coloured Kastha’s question.

“Because it is a toy. The daityas perhaps made it for a pet, or it was a piece meant to represent a throne in a game or a table map. In many eastern towns, I heard of men and women who used to put on plays for the amusement of their daitya masters. Perhaps it was a part of one of those. I’ll wager they used it to mark the throne of heaven itself, given the flourishes on it.”

Kastha was silent for a while. “Do you fancy yourself a historian, Timir the Aramban?”

“Far from it Lord Kastha. I am sure no one will believe me when I go tell them the Lord of Yamuk has a toy for a throne.”

“The daitya were a great people. Collecting proof of their craft and surrounding myself with it has been the greatest joy of my life.”

“Second greatest, surely.”

Kastha raised a brow. Timir continued, “The greatest joy of your life has surely been Yamuk itself. Its people adore you. They don’t even blame you for allowing your dogs to roam free among them, terrorising and killing as they see fit. Even this woman here, who has lost her brothers to the dog that stands beside you, scarcely spoke a word against you. How can you not love your people as they love you?”

“They value the safety I provide them,” Kastha said, rising from his throne. It did nothing to make him look taller. “They know that without me, Yamuk will be overrun with you Arambans.”

“You certainly do a great job convincing them of it,” Timir said. “But I doubt you have ever fought an Aramban. You would not last a minute against their jadukars.”

“Your insolence will cost you Timir,” Kastha took a step towards Timir as his hand moved to touch a gem hanging around his neck. A monstrous shadow coughed and gasped as it formed in the space between Timir and Kastha. It appeared short at first because of its hunched back, but as it began to straighten, it grew taller and its form acquired curved horns and wide claws. Then its eyes opened and it saw Timir.

Dwara screamed something - a warning to Timir perhaps, or a plea to Kastha.

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The shadow advanced, gingerly at first, and then flew the rest of the way. Timir lifted his sword to block the swing of its massive claw, then slashed through it and watched the shadow disintegrate into floating tatters. The clap of Dwara’s feet on the stone floor made him turn. She was done standing apart from him.

“Lord Kastha,” Dwara pleaded. “This is a good man. He is only looking to find some rest. Forgive him for...”

“Your sword,” Kastha said, astonishment colouring his raspy voice. “It is a curious thing. No metal can kill a shadow born of daitya gems.”

“A gift from my mother. She made it with her own hands using clay from her kitchen garden.”

“I will have it!” Kastha said, his eyes wild with greed, his hand directing Trivikram to advance. Trivikram hefted his axe and moved to meet Timir. Dwara, her hand on Timir’s arm, gasped.

“One moment Lord Kastha,” Timir held up his hand, giving Trivikram pause. “I wish to confer with the lady.”

“You will be wise to oblige me Aramban,” Kastha said, his eyes transfixed by the obsidian sword.

“Of course Lord Kastha. That is precisely what I wish to discuss with the lady,” Timir said and turned to Dwara to whisper, “How much suffering do you wish me to put Trivikram through?”

Dwara’s voice shook as she spoke. “I don’t care. Just keep your promise.”

When she moved away, Timir dropped his stone greatsword to the floor and spoke to Trivikram. “Come then dog, and receive a reward you do not deserve.”

Trivikram charged, looking to make things quick with a downward swing of his axe, but Timir managed to grab it by the grip and pull it away from him. He then flung it away, into a dark corner of the chamber where it clanged and clattered before falling silent. Trivikram huffed and charged back, his long arms reaching for Timir’s throat, but got rammed in the face with Timir’s head instead and took several steps back, attending to a broken nose and a bleeding eye.

Trivikram said something then, and Timir realised he was slurring his words. This was not on account of the pain he was in. It was something else.

When he came at Timir next, it wasn’t much of a fight. Timir evaded his feeble fist, grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the floor. Then he he lifted a leg and stomped on Trivikram’s head one last time. When Trivikram stopped moving, Kastha mumbled a curse from his throne, but it wasn’t anything more than frustrated swearing and Timir paid it no mind.

Instead, he walked over to Dwara and asked her the names of her brothers.

“They were called Hetu and Karna. Beautiful, beautiful boys! They were fishermen. When Trivikram’s men started keeping more than Lord Kastha’s share, they brought together other fishermen and...”

“Keep going,” Timir said as he embraced her.

“Trivikram and his men took them away. I never saw them again. My mother tried to seek an audience with Lord Kastha but the men didn’t allow her to reach him. She held out hope though, until... their bodies turned up, naked and tortured and starved to death. Grief killed her a few years later. If she had only been able to... Lord Kastha might have...”

Timir led her to where Trivikram’s broken corpse lay and chanted words she had never heard before. There was a music to it, and he sang the words better than she would have expected. Even Kastha fell silent, confused by the spectacle of an Aramban singing to a dead enemy. When his song stopped echoing in the daityamade chamber, Dwara asked him what its meaning was.

“My people believe in eternal vengeance. With these words, I pass on my strength to your brothers, wherever they may be in the afterworlds, and inform them that this man has been sent their way. I told them that if they wish to strip him naked and torture him for all time, they can.”

Dwara lifted her face to Timir’s then, standing on her toes. He lowered his head after a moment and allowed her to kiss his face.

“They won’t though,” she said. “They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Trivikram was no fly. But if they wish to treat him as one, they can do that as well.”

Dwara wiped her tears and turned once more to Kastha. “I beg forgiveness for my impudence Lord Kastha, but this man is not your enemy. He had promised to kill... to avenge the deaths of my brothers at the hands of your man Trivikram... who was a monster. Keeping his promise is all he has done. He speaks boldly and does not know his place, but you must let him pass.”

“You should have thought of that before, daughter. You brought an Aramban here to kill my men and now you expect clemency?”

“Come now Lord Kastha,” Timir laughed. “You know as well as I that I could not have killed your man without your help.”