Warmth
...Jaswant stopped and took a deep breath. He could no longer feel his body from the cold. His booted feet crunched through the crust, dusted with freshly fallen snow. They left the only traces in this world, where smooth snowy hills shone silver in the icy moonlight and a clear, starless sky shone black.
Nothing disturbed the silence of this glittering world, where even the air seemed as wounding as a sword blade. Nothing but a stubborn, lost living creature.
This warrior from a warm land, where such cold was only heard of in scary tales, was completely alone. How long had he been wandering here? Time dragged painfully slowly, or perhaps time didn't exist here at all.
Jaswant stopped and looked back at his own trail of footprints, which, before disappearing completely into this unknown, had been the size of dots in a letter. This was the only thing that indicated that time did exist, that he had been going on for an eternity, and that the world throughout this eternity had been unchanged. Only a snowy wasteland, glittering under a blinding round moon in the black sky. Not a star, not a tree, not the ghostly outlines of a frozen wall of forest or mountains. That was behind him, and the same was ahead.
His heart began to beat heavily and slowly. He would soon be unable to race this frozen world.
The black, deathly silence that reigned all around drew the most incredible thoughts from the depths of his mind.
Jaswant quickened his pace again, and the crisp, prickly air burned his lungs.
He could barely remember how this journey had begun and how he had ended up in such an absurdly hopeless situation. The snowy wasteland he had to cross had already inspired mistrust, but the Shindura king was even more so.
He recalled the dim light of His Majesty's opulent tent. He recalled the subtle, yet so familiar scent of incense. Of course, there wasn't any here, but the aroma seemed to permeate everything here. In his homeland, the scent of sandalwood was often mingled with the scent of food or dry earth; now, it carried the icy breath of a storm.
Rajendra ordered the guards to leave the tent, and they were left alone. How foolish. Or was he planning something?
They were silent for a while, listening to the howling wind outside.
Rajendra looked serious. The flickering lamplights illuminated his face from the gloom, penetrating the depths of his dark eyes, making them flush red, like wine in the light. Now, the man Jaswant had known almost since birth no longer displayed his usual ostentatious carelessness.
-Stay in camp today. As soon as the storm subsides, you'll go to Prince Arslan.
- I can't delay, - Jaswant responded quickly.
The walls of the tent shook with every gust, silently threatening anyone who dared leave them.
It was like a separate world here, immersed in semi-darkness. The lamps on tall stands flickered and flickered, sending black shadows darting across the patterned walls, seemingly alive.
-What are you talking about!- Rajendra exclaimed. The flames flickered across his massive gold hoop earrings and the tiny gold lip ring, which gave him a strange, mischievous look. -Outside in this weather, one could only freeze to death.
Jaswant's body tensed, as if about to attack. No one ever trusted Rajendra. This man, who fancied himself a great trickster, was capable of anything. Jaswant knew him well. That's why he, and not Giewe or Narsas, was sent here to the border with Turan, where Shindura's army was encamped.
Even when all was calm, the Shindra king could try to unexpectedly twist the situation to his advantage, without distinguishing between ally and foe.
They had to think of something. A blunt and outright refusal was impossible; they both understood that perfectly well. To stay would be to fall into a trap. Delay meant giving Rajendra the chance to plan something. He loved such opportunities and sometimes, to everyone's misfortune, he used them unwisely.
-Yes, Your Majesty, it is dangerous outside,-Jaswant agreed. Not even an eyebrow twitched on his swarthy face.
Rajendra nodded slightly. He's listening intently. Excellent.
-That's precisely why I must hurry. His Highness Arslan is counting on your response and should receive it soon. He relies on you as his closest ally.-Jaswant's voice was calm, not betraying how vulnerable he felt. A barely perceptible draft felt like a blade pressing into his back. His heart pounded slowly and dully, and the cozy gloom suddenly became unbearably stuffy. The situation was slowly tightening, like the nooses of a snare.
-How stubborn you are!-Rajendra slapped his knee so hard that Jaswant almost winced. -You don't want to stay, warm up, and be with your fellow countrymen, then?-So Rajendra had given himself away. He was cunning and quite intelligent, but Jaswant had spent too much time dealing with people who were wiser.
-Please forgive me, but I must return as soon as possible. We mustn't give the enemy of Pars and Shindura any more chances to develop a new strategy,- Jaswant replied, sincerely hoping that Rajendra wouldn't be so short-sighted as to order the guards to seize him right here or do something similar. Anything was possible.
It wasn't as if Rajendra's words hadn't resonated with him. Jaswant had truly not seen the people of his own country or heard his native language for a long time.
However, he immediately dismissed this illusion. In his entire life in Shindura, he hadn't dared to call people he considered family. Those people weren't here. Some of them could no more be brought back than the past.
-If you must hurry, then I'll let you go.- Rajendra replied quietly and casually, smiling. It was barely noticeable, without guile or mockery. -But remember, if you freeze to death, Salima will definitely kill me.
Something burning ran through his body. Jaswant was definitely unprepared for such an attack. The look fixed on Rajendra gave him away before Arslan's envoy could even process it.
-The last time I returned on your horse, she simply burned me with her gaze,- the shiduran king continued, taking a sip from his goblet and gazing thoughtfully into space, as if into an irrevocable past. -I don't think I'll get off so easily this time. She always worried about you like a brother, well, well...
Rajendra smiled, and the gold ring gleamed dully. Jaswant had known him all his life, but he'd never learned to tell when he was joking and when he was serious. It seemed as if he was about to burst into a loud laugh at the end of his speech, but it never happened.
Familiar images, disturbed by Rajendra's words, instantly appeared in Jaswant's memory. It all seemed like it had happened in another life. A life where he had been called son and brother.
-What happened was predetermined. My late brother and I were destined to fight each other.
Yes, Rajendra is right. This confrontation lasted their entire lives. They were always together, one way or another. Gadevi, Rajendra, Salima, and Jaswant.
All of them had grown up under the watchful eye of the nobility, who were deciding whose side to take.
Some were destined to support the eldest prince, Gadevi; others decided to take a risk and side with the younger, brighter and more unpredictable Rajendra, who possessed a more flexible mind. Childhood games, rivalries, and fights turned into bloody battles. While fighting each other, each was a vital driving force in this confrontation. Even Jaswant, a former servant in his childhood, accompanying the princely brothers, learning the ways of war with them, and serving them, had over the years become a dangerous shadow lurking in Rajendra's army, serving Prince Gadevi,
-We trained throughout our childhood, remember?
-Yes, Your Majesty, -Jaswant said. In the past, young Prince Rajendra had always sent for him to practice with blunt swords, at any time. That the boy servant was exhausted after training with Prince Gadevi didn't bother him.
-If Gadevi and I weren't brothers, maybe we would have gotten along... - Rajendra's voice was quiet and calm, with a hint of longing. Perhaps for the old days, when bloody clashes were still a long way off and none of them knew what role they would be destined for. -Sometimes I even begin to miss the past.
Jaswant sat across from Rajendra and listened to this torrent of words, unable to stop it.
-And yet you're the only one left with whom I can talk about this like this...-Rajendra said unexpectedly, thoughtfully scratching his stubbled chin. -You can't talk like that with Salima.
Yes, Lady Salima was born with power, grew up surrounded by it, and knew how to wield it. She also knew how to deal with those with greater power. Therefore, she was able to politely and unobtrusively avoid conversations that didn't suit her. It was like a fighting technique used to escape an opponent's grip.
And yet, the scent of sandalwood in the frosty air, the patterns on the walls, and the events of the past seemed to momentarily transport Jaswant back to the time of Shindrua, ruled by Karikala II, where there was a light-stone house with carved arches, pavilions, and gardens, where the vizier Mahendra lived.
There were also two princely brothers, locked in a rivalry, and the vizier's daughter, who had inherited not only her father's kind heart but also her intelligence. The future then seemed so uncertain; no one could have imagined how things would turn out. That Pars would burst into this conflict, turning everything upside down for each of them...
Rajendra brought Jaswant back to the present. Suddenly, the shindura king rose to his feet, placed his cup on the low table, and approached him.
Jaswant barely had time to stand, as required by etiquette.
The gaze of his dark eyes was clear and piercing. So, the cup isn't wine, and he's not drunk. On the other hand, Rajendra doesn't need to be drunk to do something crazy.
-Return to Shindura, Jaswant. And serve me.
The air seemed to be knocked from his lungs, and Jaswant felt the dim light of the tent cease to be real, turning into something as shaky and unreliable as a shadow.
A whirlwind of memories, a disturbed longing for the past with the people who remained there forever, and a sense of danger mingled, spreading through his numb body like a burning poison.
What? Did Rajendra really say that to him?
His light turquoise eyes gazed into his brown, wine-red ones and didn't drop. Now Jaswant felt he could look him in the eyes.
-Your Majesty, I cannot accept your offer.-I have sworn allegiance to Prince Arslan and will accompany him until I fulfill my duty.
As he spoke, Jaswant wished this time would never come.
A smile still played on Rajendra's lips, but the spark of that impulse was already fading in his dark eyes.
-Is that so?- The clear, drawling voice became cheerful again, but it sounded different. -So you will not join my service?
-No, Your Majesty,- the parsian prince's envoy replied, his expression unchanged. Events were taking an unpredictable and dangerous turn, and Jaswant felt defenseless. On the battlefield, everything was much simpler. There, luck, strength, and weapons decided fate. What was happening here?
-And you chose to swear allegiance to Prince Arslan!-Laughter cut through the searing darkness, lashing painfully at Jaswant's strained hearing. -However, there's nothing surprising about that; oaths are not broken. That's just you...
Jaswant suppressed the urge to step back with an effort of will.
The nooses of the trap were about to tighten. It was impossible to escape this snare.
-Very well!- Rajendra finally said, his tone still casual. "In the end, everyone has their own path. Go to your master, Jaswant. He awaits you."
-Thank you, Your Majesty.-Jaswant bowed in gratitude, as formality demanded, bracing himself for anything. However, no blow from behind followed; instead, Rajendra took a few steps forward, walked around Jaswant, and threw back the tent flap, letting in a gust of frosty wind. Jaswant, unprepared, shuddered as the cold hit his face and slid down his back, finding a gap in his warm clothing like a skillfully aimed arrow in armor.
-Warm?
Rajendra's voice was as clear as ever, but a glint of a blade flickered in his eyes.
The events no longer seemed insane to Jaswant when he had to walk to the other end of the camp. After he didn't find his horse at the hitching post, everything finally fell into place.
The frozen soldiers, trying to warm themselves by the fire, stamping and beating their thighs, as if performing some strange dance, merely threw up their hands.
-She jumped, broke away, and ran away...
These soldiers were entertained only by watching the spittle freeze with a crackling sound before it reached the snow.
Strangely, Jaswant felt remarkably calm. Reality, momentarily disturbed by his conversation with Rajendra, regained its solidity. Life became secure and understandable again. Even the echoes of past pain dulled. Of course. This was Rajendra. The Rajendra Jaswant had known all his life, the one he would never serve...
A faint smile even appeared on his cracked lips. Everything had fallen into place, and he needed to return to his place...
However, the next moment, this certainty was swept away by a searing wave of realization.
How will I make this entire journey without a horse?!
Thoughts fluttered like frightened birds, Jaswant quickly recovered. Among them, he even briefly considered stealing a poorly looked after horse. Perhaps Master Giv would succeed...
No, Rajendra would turn this against them, too. Staying meant giving Rajendra another chance to turn everything to his advantage, and that advantage didn't always coincide with Arslan's plans... There was no turning back, and there couldn't be. All he could do was move forward. Thankfully, the wind had died down. But it didn't get any warmer.
***
The wind no longer howled, but the cold still nipped and pricked his fingers and toes like invisible needles. Even his mittens and boots offered no relief.
The longer Jaswant gazed into the moonlit wasteland, the more clearly he felt that there had been no choice from the start, and that he had to do something. He knew nothing about the cold and hadn't heard of seasoned travelers preferring not to venture into such frost, yet he continued on his way. That's how he ended up here.
The Shindran had never made such a long trek alone in such cold, but he would make it and deliver the answer, a carefully rolled scroll resting beneath the folds of his heavy clothing. The cold no longer stabbed like needles; now it had replaced the needles with dagger blades, slicing through his legs and arms with every movement. Who would have thought the cold could cause such genuine pain?
In such weather, it was best to light a fire. Everything he needed, including the dried bark, remained in his bag. The bag was strapped to the saddle, the saddle was on the horse, but the horse was gone. There were no weapons, not even any supplies. No trees around. And beneath the snow lay only frozen ground.
Jaswant was completely alone. What if he froze here and His Highness received no answer?
These thoughts were dizzying, like frost. Gradually, what was happening ceased to seem real, and he felt as if he was no longer himself, bearing less and less of a connection to this awkward, constrained body, whose only open lid was a narrow slit where the eyes were, framed by frost-white eyelashes.
The storm that had raged while he was in Rajendra's tent had died down as if it had never happened, as if mockingly erasing all traces.
He could have relied on his horse's scent, but the horse remained there, in the Shinduran camp...
Something burning rose in his throat. No, now was not the time for this!
Jaswant strode faster across the soft, sparkling snow, breaking through the crust beneath, sinking in above his knees and feeling the blades of frost that continued to prick and cut with every step. Pain urged him on, letting him know that his body was still capable of feeling. Yes, his body was still capable.
What was happening was absurdly hopeless.
His Highness Arslan would not receive a valuable answer from Rajendra because his envoy...
Then his thoughts trailed off, refusing to go any further.
...because his messenger was lost in these snows...
His blood, warmed by the run, rushed faster through his body. Jaswant ran forward as fast as his thick layers of warm clothing would allow. It was even getting hot, but this heat was disgusting and sticky.
Arslan's messenger tripped over something and fell into the snow. This time, the cold burned him. Jumping up, he ran on. The clinging snow instantly melted on his hot skin and slid under his clothes. He no longer heard his breath wheezing from his lungs. He fell into the hated snow, jumped up, and ran forward again, and the moon floated with him in the clear black sky.
What does it feel like to lose? What does it feel like to suffer defeat, despite all his efforts?
Familiar images and faces flashed through his mind... who would have thought that before his end, he would remember them? Desperate to see them one last time?..
Your Highness... Arslan...
The cold no longer stabbed or cut. Now the heat tore at his heart and lungs. There was no longer any silence; his blood roared desperately in his ears. Alive, seething, unyielding.
But it wouldn't help. Nothing would help. Jaswant wasn't naive enough to hope for anything. He collapsed again in the smooth, soft snow. The accelerated blood burned. It hurt... how it hurt...
His body could no longer rise. So even despair has its limits.
Jaswant lay motionless, gazing at the black, distant sky. The moisture on his face had already begun to turn into a fragile, shimmering crust. He didn't know they were tears.
Frost settled on his eyelashes, making it difficult to open his eyes. Through the roar of his own blood, Jaswant caught a soft, barely audible crackling sound. What was that? The crackling of the cold…
Suddenly, Rajendra's voice rang out, so genuine, as if he were leaning toward his ear. Just like that time, standing before him, throwing back the tent flap.
-Warmth?
-Warmth.- Jaswant answered, not hearing his own voice, or perhaps he only imagined he'd spoken it aloud.
Warmth, because he longed to be there, to those people and those faces. Because it was warm there, but that warmth required a journey…
Slowly, pushing his hands into the compacted snow, breaking the frozen crust with a dull crack, Jaswant rose to his feet.
He seemed to float slowly above the glittering snowfield, effortlessly and unaware. Or perhaps he only imagined that he had managed to rise and remained there, in the snow.
Jaswant considered looking back. The uneven line of loosened snow and the absence of his own body behind him indicated that this was all real. And he had to rely on his vision to understand his actions.
Good…
His cracked, bloodshot lips stretched into a smile. If he could stand, then he could walk; if he could walk, then there was hope… for him and for His Highness Arslan…
He thought about the report, securely tucked away in his bosom. Like a small living creature, which he strove to protect and deliver to the people who brought him warmth.
He only had to walk... walk... run...
But no matter how far the Shindra warrior walked, no matter how much he broke into a desperate run that kept the blood pumping, the world around him remained unchanged. No camp lights. No human presence in this world.
Suddenly, Jaswant stopped and forgot about the cold. An even more searing feeling consumed everything, squeezed the back of his head, and crashed down on him.
I won't reach the camp. I won't deliver the answer. I won't see His Highness again.
What was happening became real again, not a dizzying, frosty dream. Jaswant fought with all his might. He fought with Rajendra, evading his verbal trap, with his memories, with the distance separating him from the warm parsian camp, with his own freezing body, but why was he bound to win? Why do people assume that by trying their hardest, they will surely win and their hopes will come true? As if hope owes people anything?
The snowy plain showed no sign of ending, nor the parsian lights of a glimmer. Human strength is finite, and it had come to an end, but the snowy eternity will not change.
Sometimes a man's hope is his own misfortune.
Jaswant walked slowly forward, or so he thought, hearing the ringing cry of a hawk in the distance…
