Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (41 page)

Bookbinder stared for a moment, and was about to turn his attention back to Nishok when the air before them shimmered.

A giant gate rolled open before them, as large as the one he’d passed through when he’d first come to the Source.

A convoy of military trucks rolled through, and the Indian soldiers swarmed them, rushing to move stacks of heavy wooden crates into their own vehicles.

Resupply by Portamantic gate. Bookbinder snapped his eyes up to the ring wall. After a moment’s scanning, they alighted on one of the naga princes, leaning from one of the wall’s turrets, arms outstretched. His current was wickedly strong. Even from this great distance, Bookbinder felt the faintest hint of it thrumming in the air.

Their Portamancer. Bookbinder tried not to stare and failed.

Here was the answer to their problems. Right beside him and not helping him for reasons he couldn’t understand.

Bookbinder bit back on his anger. Ghaisas followed his gaze and noted his expression. “Perhaps Colonel Bookbinder is feeling tired from too much playing,” he ventured. “Maybe now is the time to go back to the guesthouse for resting. Maybe with rest you can finish the fear-sickness and give His Royal Majesty the requested demonstration.”

The Naga Raja summoned them again the next day, right on schedule. They proceeded into his presence, Hazarika and Vasuki-Kai in the lead, just as before. Ajathashatru reclined on his dais, just as before. The only thing to distinguish this visit from the last was the presence of a single naga sorcerer by his side. Bookbinder still had trouble telling any two naga apart, but this looked to him to be the Portamancer he’d seen during the cricket game.

Once they had performed their prostrations, Ajathashatru addressed them. “His Royal Majesty notes that you are enjoying playing games with his children. This pleases him. Cricket is a silly game, but it is a mark of civilization, and taking to it can only improve the lot of your people.”

Bookbinder bowed. “His Majesty was kind to permit it. Captain Ghaisas has been very gracious and patient in teaching us.”

Ajathashatru’s many heads nodded. “His Majesty says that you have been a polite guest. He will hear your entreaty now if you wish to beg a boon of him.”

Bookbinder glanced at the Portamancer. The formality of the request making perplexed him. Surely Vasuki-Kai had informed his king why they had come here. Why bother with the asking?

He shrugged inwardly. This was a different race, a different culture.

He couldn’t begin to understand how their minds worked.

Best to play along in the hopes they were getting somewhere.

The Portamancer couldn’t help but be a good sign.

“Please inform His Majesty that my government’s presence in this plane is cut off from resupply and aid. We are under siege by hostile goblin tribes and cannot hold out for very long. If we are not rescued, many thousands will die. I ask that His Majesty use his Portamancer to help us to return to my home to obtain relief for my men before they are lost.”

Ajathashatru hissed to one of the naga guards, who bowed, slithered away, and returned with a bundle of arrows. A princely naga joined it, a strong current emanating from it. The tenor of the tide came clear to Bookbinder, soft, cold, fluid. A Hydromancer.

“His Majesty asks if, now that you are rested and accustomed to life among us, you can work your magic as a demonstration.”

Bookbinder sighed inwardly. It seemed that while he could not bargain, the Great King most certainly could. The naga Hydromancer stretched its hands forward, Binding its magic into a shimmering ball of ice that hovered before it.

“His Majesty asks that you magic the tips of these arrows, as you did the bullets of your
sipahi
when you fought the agni danav on your journey here.”

There was no playing games now. If he wanted to use the king’s gate, he was going to have to put something on the table.

He stepped forward and did his grunting drama as before, but this time, he worked his magic properly, siphoning off the naga’s current in full to its hissing surprise, then channeling it into the arrowheads, one by one, until they crackled on the stone floor of the promenade, blue with cold, sparking frost.

One of the naga guards slithered forward at a gesture from the king, retrieved one of the magic arrows, and nocked it to a man-sized bow. At a nod from Ajathashatru, it fired it into one of the stone pedestals that fed the clouds of glass insects. The arrow slammed into the base of it, the frost spreading outward, the stone crackling from the cold. After a moment, the pedestal shivered, then shattered, frozen pieces scattering across the promenade, sending the snakes sliding away.

Ajathashatru hissed in frank admiration, then paused, assuming his usual regal mode. “His Majesty says your magic is very impressive. He asks how long these arrows will stay ensorcelled.”

Bookbinder shook his head honestly. “I regret I do not know. I believe they expend their magic as they are used.”

“His Majesty is pleased with your demonstration. He grants your boon and will direct his
amatyan
to return you home to your people soon. Unfortunately, the time is not auspicious for the working of this particular magic. The great rain that indicates the end of the
Vassa
is late this year. Until these rains come, the magic you request cannot be worked.”

Bookbinder seethed. Fucking liar. He had just seen the Portamancer working his magic right in front of him yesterday. He chose one of Ajathashatru’s heads and met its eyes. The head stared back, daring him to challenge the patent falsehood. Bookbinder swallowed his pride and bowed. “Of course, I will be patient and await His Majesty’s pleasure.”

Ajathashatru nodded. “His Majesty commands you to do so. He will summon you again when he next desires an audience. Go now, and know that His Royal Majesty is pleased with you.”

Bookbinder backed out of the audience again, eyes down, blood boiling with fury, digging deep for scraps of patience.

When next the Indians brought them out for cricket, Bookbinder noted soldiers busily cleaning up the tents and doing their best to put their gear in order. Regimental standards were being raised, A golden Maltese cross surrounded a horn beneath three lions fluttered above one tent pole, an elephant paraded across a round shield before two crossed swords on another. The number of dress uniforms had spiked sharply.

“What’s up with that?” Bookbinder asked Ghaisas, indicating the fluttering standards, the sudden interest in order and cleanliness.

Ghaisas grinned. “Very soon it is Army Day in my country. We celebrate a very famous general. He was our first once India became a free democracy. There will be celebrations here and also at home.”

“Outstanding. Do we get to celebrate with you?”

Ghaisas thought about it for a moment. “Maybe we are having special ‘grudge’ cricket match?”

Bookbinder nodded. No doubt they’d find a way to use that as an excuse to further delay them. He knew the cricket games were an attempt to distract them.

The next day, two naga guards escorted the same naga Hydromancer and deposited a larger bundle of arrows beside the fountain, hissing and nodding at Bookbinder until he transferred the creature’s magic into them. He looked up once the bundle was fully magicked, gingerly lifted by the guards, careful not to touch the blue tips, and carted away. “Tell His Royal Majesty that I sincerely hope those rains come soon,” Bookbinder said.

But if the naga understood him, they gave no sign.

This became a daily ritual. Bookbinder would magick bundles of arrows in the morning, as well as the occasional sword or magazine of ammunition. In the afternoon, Captain Ghaisas would collect them for cricket. The captain was tight-lipped about the coming rains, and his men all studiously avoided the topic, Dhatri included. After a while, Bookbinder stopped bringing it up.

Each day, the Portamancer would come to the turret to open the gate for the Indian soldiers to transfer equipment or personnel.

Bookbinder would look at his lap, knowing he was expected to ignore this flagrant dishonesty.

When, after another week, Hazarika and Vasuki-Kai came to summon him before the Naga Raja again, hope stirred in his breast. Perhaps he’d finally passed whatever test of patience they’d laid before him. Maybe this was it.

But his heart sank when he saw that the promenade before Ajathashatru had at last been cleared of snakes. Instead, there were heaps of ordinance. Arrows, swords, bullets, even larger artillery shells and rockets. They stretched all around Bookbinder, forcing him to turn his head to take it all in.

“His Royal Majesty is exceedingly pleased with your magic,” Hazarika translated. “The frost you have put into his arms persists, and has given him a great tool to strike at the heart of his enemies. He is most pleased with you and has decided to make an exception. There is no need to wait for the
Vassa
this year. His Majesty will employ his magic to aid you.”

Bookbinder shuddered as he waited for the “but” that was surely coming. It did.

“But,” Hazarika added, “His Majesty asks that you first complete this task for him.” He swept his arm across all the ordnance spread around him. “You must first magick these instruments of war for the glory of his Majesty’s army.”

Bookbinder nodded and bowed. All anger was gone. His blood was as cool as his mind was clear.

Because now he knew. He had seen the vast expanse of the Agni Danav Raajya. He knew that a full-scale offensive against them would take months, that it would require magicked ammunition far beyond even the piles that lay all around him now.

He knew the truth: Now that Ajathashatru knew what he could do, the Great King would never, ever let him go.

Bookbinder returned to the pavilion, stretched, and tapped Sharp on the shoulder. “A word.” He motioned toward the fountain.

Sharp nodded and followed. The naga guards, now confident that Bookbinder and his team would keep to the pavilion and its environs, no longer followed them to the place where the loud pattering of falling water obscured hushed conversation.

Bookbinder was fairly certain that the naga guards couldn’t understand a word of what they said, but he still made a great show of scrubbing down, and was sure to pitch his voice low when he said to Sharp, “We’re leaving.”

Sharp looked up, surprised. “Sir . . .”

Bookbinder plunged his hands into the water, scrubbing them hard and splashing loudly. “You’re in receive mode now, Sergeant. I am not asking for your opinion. I am telling you what our course of action is.”

Sharp paused only briefly. “Roger that, sir. What are your orders?”

Bookbinder nodded. “The first thing is that the only people who know are you and I. That doesn’t change. I don’t want Woon or Stanley accidentally letting the cat out of the bag.”

“Got it. What’s the plan? It’s a long walk back to the FOB.”

“We’re not walking back to the FOB. Listen, when this happens, it’s going to be a big surprise. I’m telling you because I know I can count on you not to hesitate. If anyone holds back when this kicks off, you grab them by the short hairs and make them move.”

“Make them move where?”

“You’ll see.”

Sharp nodded. “All right, sir. When does this pop off?”

“Tomorrow’s their big celebration, right? Their national Army Day or something?”

Sharp thought about it for a moment and nodded again. “All right, they’ll be distracted and busy. We’ll be out on the pitch for our grudge match.

“That’s when we get out of here.”

Bookbinder barely slept that night. He was up at dawn, pacing the pavilion, waiting for his escort to arrive. He watched the tower’s base, willing his eyes to see through it. At some point, Indian officers would round that tower to fetch him away. Would it be Captain Ghaisas, coming to fetch him for another round of cricket? Or would it be Brigadier Hazarika and another day of ensorcelling Ajathashatru’s weaponry? Panic and elation warred in his gut.

At long last, two khaki uniforms appeared around the tower’s base, naga guards in tow. Bookbinder froze, staring hard as the men hove into view. One of them wore epaulets and Bookbinder strained to make them out. At long last he did.

Three gold suns. Ghaisas. Bookbinder swallowed hard and nodded to Sharp. The sergeant nodded back and said nothing.

Ghaisas saluted, grinning. “Today is a very special cricket match, sir.”

Bookbinder cocked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” But his stomach was doing somersaults. He hadn’t forgotten about the promised grudge match.

“Today is Army Day that I told you about. So we are having our grudge match, and we are not taking it easy on you, Colonel! Very tough cricket match.” He smiled fiercely.

Bookbinder laughed. “Well, in honor of your holiday, I suppose we’ll try to lose with as much grace as possible.”

They headed through the plaza toward the main gate in the ring wall. Bookbinder motioned to Sharp to keep close by. The sergeant matched his pace, his face blank.

The Indian encampment was festive. Pennants flapped from staves shoved into the muddy lanes that intersected between the Indian tents, proudly displaying the regimental arms of the various units making up the Indian presence on the FOB. The red Indian Army flag, white swords crossed below white lions, was everywhere. Soldiers chatted happily around grill fires. He saw more than one dress uniform, starched jackets, red silk turbans, white feathers. They looked ridiculously out of place among the mud and tents.