Kastha’s eyes narrowed. “Do tell, Aramban. How did I help you end Trivikram?”
“You are a man with many fears, Lord Kastha. The smell of Prajapati told me as much,” Timir said, picking his greatsword up from the floor. “Perhaps you are right to be afraid, perhaps you are in danger. Perhaps these dangers are so great that you can’t afford to grant your men a wink of sleep. I am sure the late Captain Trivikram never complained about the dark circles under his eyes.”
“What of it?” Kastha sat back down on his throne. “I am the lord of Yamuk, its defender. I am all that stands between its freedom and Aramban ambitions. I need my men to be on their toes at all times. Why must this mean I caused Trivikram’s death?”
“It doesn’t. Not by itself,” Timir said. “But when I saw Trivikram by the gate to your keep, he was a good deal stronger. I felt his strength the way one feels warmth from a fire. There was magic in him, I think. Magic that I found missing when I fought him here, before you.”
Dwara turned to look to Kastha when Timir stopped speaking, but the small man on the throne said nothing.
“My guess -” Timir said. “- is that you fear your own men as much as you fear nameless Arambans. That is why you have them at half their strength when they are about you. Perhaps there is something in the air in here, but I doubt it. I myself feel as strong as ever. I am sure Dwara feels the same.”
“The warmth you felt from Trivikram came from a daitya talisman I granted him. It made him the equal of ten men when he was out fulfilling my commands. Inside the keep, its effects were removed by the Purple Prajapati. One of the flower’s many properties is that it interferes with certain daitya magics.”
“How clever!” Timir exclaimed. “I am sure Trivikram had nothng but gratitude on his mind when he breathed his last.”
“If you let me have your sword, I will grant that gift to you too Aramban,” Kastha leaned forward. “You will roam the world a conqueror, feared by all who find you. No one will raise their eyes to meet yours, no one will challenge your authority.”
“Enh,” Timir made a face. “How dismal! If I accept this gift of yours, no one will ever wish to be my friend.”
“You will say no to the strength of ten men? You value that hideous sword that much?”
In the moment of silence that followed Kastha’s offer, Dwara saw Timir’s mask slip. The mischief left him, and something else took its place - the shadow of something dire. It was not rage, but a sadder thing. A memory perhaps.
“I have no need of being feared Lord Kastha,” Timir said icily. “For I know what it is like to be loved.”
Timir knew Kastha would not understand this. Men like him never did. It was why men like him existed in the first place. In time, it was Dwara’s voice that broke the silence. “Why do you wish to have his sword my lord, if it is so hideous to you?”
“I see the magic in it, daughter,” Kastha replied. “I see it for what it can be in the hands of one such as I. The Aramban knows nothing of it. A thing of such power is wasted on him. Tell me Timir, can you even read the writing on your greatsword?”
“I’m not much of a reader, Lord Kastha,” Timir said cheerfully, his mask back up. “An old jadukar in Aramba told me these were daitya words. I always imagined they spell out the word sword?”
Kastha laughed as he pointed at Timir. “See daughter? He knows nothing of the treasure he carries.”
Timir lifted the sword up with both hands and squinted at the red letters on it. Then he took a few steps towards Kastha’s throne and kneeled, as if about to make an offering. “You may be right Lord Kastha. Perhaps you are more deserving of this gift from my mother than I am. She used to tell me that one day, I would meet a wise man who would be my better in every respect. It seems that day has arrived.”
“You will give it to me then?” Kastha stood up, betraying a little too much enthusiasm.
“I can’t just hand it to you of course,” Timir said. “But you might be able to convince me to part with it.”
Kastha flexed his fingers impatiently. “What do you want?”
“Only what I have wanted since I set foot in this town - a soft bed in a quiet room. When I have had my sleep, I will gift you my Ugr in the presence of all Yamuk, and be gone before the sun sets.”
Kastha’s face was unreadable, but even though he had soured a little, he tried to keep his impatience from showing. Soon, his wife - the one Timir and Dwara had seen by the gate - appeared behind them, summoned through means known only to Kastha. She was silent at first, despite the sight of Trivikram’s corpse, but soon began to sob and weep uncontrollably.
“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Dwara elbowed Timir and whispered.
“No Dwara,” Timir said. “I most certainly am not.”
Not much later, the lady of the house escorted them silently to a room on the other end of the floor. It wasn’t daitya-made and had a thick curtained window that helped keep the heat of the afternoon sun from turning it into a kiln. The bed was soft and Timir fell into it almost immediately while Dwara marvelled at all that the room contained. She poked a wooden mask that hung on the wall and it clattered to the ground. When she turned to the bed with teeth clenched, she found Timir staring at her with eyes wide open.
“I am sorry.”
Timir sighed. “Don’t be. I can’t sleep, must have inhaled too much Prajapati.”
“What do you think this is?” Dwara held up the wooden mask.
“I don’t know,” Timir said. “But it is old. As old as this keep almost. Another daitya toy perhaps?”
“How can you tell?” Dwara took another look at the mask, wondering if it would fit her face.
“Long story,” Timir said tiredly.
She placed the mask on her face, felt its rough insides on her skin, and returned it to its place on the wall. “That could have been dangerous.”
“The why did you do it?” Timir asked.
“I don’t know. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I sensed no magic coming from it. If it ever contained magic, it has been gone for a long time now. Maybe that is why it is hanging lonely on a wall here, instead of in Lord Kastha’s stash.”
“How can you tell?”
“As I said, long story.”
“You have time.”
With great reluctance, Timir sat up and faced Dwara, who sat down on the bed next to him.
“There is magic in everything Dwara, and it is daitya magic. When they perished at the end of their war with the gods, it seeped out of their blood and bones and became one with the air, the water, and the soil. It came to live in all beasts and trees and people. Even today, though ages have passed and it is all but gone, traces of it remain in all things.”
“And why are you able to sense it when I cannot?”
“You do not sense it because it is the same as you. The magic in that mask would have been the same as what’s in your blood and bones.”
“And you are different?”
“I am. There is a god inside me. His name is Koru.”
To be continued…
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“How clever!” Timir exclaimed. “I am sure Trivikram had nothng but gratitude on his mind when he breathed his last.” Hey just wanted to point out that the spelling of "nothing" is wrong. Thank you
Nope spam mein bhi nahin Hai.. I was thinking the same.. the people who crave for more and more power are probably the most unloved ones..