Time Stamp: Vikram Era: 6 Shraavana 1626 (15 July 1569), near Danapur
As the caravan continued its journey with heightened vigilance, Vardhaman kept a close watch on the surroundings, his senses on high alert. The wounded scout's report had put everyone on edge. The formation had been adjusted, with the troops ready for any potential threat.
The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. The air was thick with tension as the caravan neared the Danapur training grounds. Just as the first stars began to appear in the twilight sky, a distant sound reached Vardhaman's ears—a sound that made his heart race with urgency.
The whistle of arrows.
"Everyone, prepare yourselves!" Vardhaman shouted, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations. The soldiers snapped to attention, their weapons at the ready.
From the darkness, a group of attackers emerged, their figures barely visible in the fading light. Unlike a full cavalry charge, this was a smaller, more coordinated ambush. The enemy forces, equipped with crossbows and spears, moved swiftly and silently, taking advantage of the fading light and the element of surprise.
"Form ranks! Musketeers, take aim!" Vardhaman commanded.
The soldiers moved with practiced precision, forming a solid defensive line. The pike infantry lowered their weapons, ready to meet the attackers head-on, while the musketeers took aim, ready to fire at the approaching enemy.
The clash was inevitable. The first wave of attackers collided with the pike infantry, the sound of metal clashing against metal and the cries of men filling the air. The royal guards held their ground, their formation holding strong against the onslaught.
Vardhaman fought bravely, his sword a blur as he parried and struck down enemy combatants. The musketeers fired in controlled bursts, their flintlock Vajra rifles proving deadly in the chaotic melee.
Amidst the chaos, Shantaghna's carriage was targeted by several enemy attackers. He emerged from his carriage, his face twisted in a mixture of rage and fear. "Defend me, you fools!" he bellowed, his crude bravado faltering in the face of real danger. Before the soldiers could respond, a crossbow bolt whistled through the air and embedded itself in his skull, killing him instantly. His body crumpled to the ground, causing panic among the nearby troops.
Despite his disdain for the commander, Vardhaman knew they couldn't afford to lose any of their forces to panic. "Form a protective circle around the commander!" he ordered, his voice carrying over the noise of battle, even though Shantaghna was already dead.
The soldiers obeyed, forming a defensive perimeter around the fallen commander and his retinue of maids,. Vardhaman could see the fear in the eyes of the young maids who had been fawning over Shantaghna just moments before. Now, they were caught in the midst of a brutal battle, their lives hanging in the balance.
The battle raged on, the sounds of combat filling the twilight. Vardhaman's mind raced as he fought, trying to gauge the strength and numbers of the enemy force. Among the attackers, he spotted a symbol resembling that of one of the elitist noble factions, along with the logo of a new heretical religion he had heard about.
Suddenly, a trumpet blast echoed through the battlefield, a signal from the enemy forces. The attackers began to retreat, their ranks pulling back in a disciplined manner. Vardhaman didn't trust the sudden withdrawal, sensing a possible feint.
"Hold your positions!" he commanded. "Stay alert!"
The attackers regrouped at a distance, their leaders conferring. It was clear they weren't done yet. The royal guards braced themselves, knowing the battle was far from over.
In the midst of the chaos, several attackers reached the queen's carriage. They flung open the doors, expecting easy prey, only to be met with a fierce, armed queen. Nayana, despite her advanced pregnancy, stood ready with a beautifully etched and painted sawed-off flintlock repeater and a bayonet-sized dagger.
"Sonakshi, open the drawer under the seats," she commanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil outside.
Sonakshi, confused but obedient, found the hidden compartment and retrieved the weapons: the shotgun, a smaller pistol, and several daggers. "Here, Your Majesty," she said, her hands trembling.
Nayana took the shotgun, her eyes cold and determined. "Take the pistol, Sonakshi. Stay behind me."
The attackers hesitated, taken aback by the sight of the armed queen. Nayana didn't give them a chance to recover. She fired the shotgun, the blast echoing in the confined space, taking down two attackers instantly. The recoil was powerful, but she handled it with practiced ease.
"I miss the old days," she muttered, firing again. "When a fight was simple."
(or just as the founding fathers intended)
Sonakshi, emboldened by the queen's courage, fired the pistol, hitting an attacker in the shoulder. The attackers were unprepared for such resistance and quickly fell to the queen's fierce defense. Nayana's dagger flashed, and another attacker went down, his throat slashed.
Once the immediate threat was neutralized, Nayana slumped back into the carriage, her breath coming in short gasps. "Damn this pregnancy," she cursed. "I can't move like I used to."
Sonakshi quickly tended to her, making sure she was alright. "You were incredible, Your Majesty."
Outside, the situation was dire. The loosened formation and the commander's death had thrown the troops into disarray. Vardhaman fought to regain control, but they were being pushed back by the onslaught. The proximity of the enemy made it impossible to use the rocket carts effectively. Crossbows fired from the hills, while the attackers pressed the assault with swords and spears.
Vardhaman shouted orders, trying to reestablish discipline among the ranks. "Pike infantry, hold the line! Musketeers, focus your fire on the crossbowmen!" He knew they needed to take the high ground to neutralize the threat.
The melee troops and shield bearers began to scale the banks under heavy fire, their shields raised to deflect the bolts. It was a grueling climb, and many fell to the relentless barrage. But the determination of the royal guards was unwavering.
Just as hope seemed lost, a distant horn blast cut through the night. The Danapur garrison, alerted by the commotion, had arrived. They flanked the attackers from behind, neutralizing the ballistae and crossbowmen on the hills.
With the garrison's help, the tide of the battle turned. The combined forces of the royal guards and the garrison pushed back the attackers, who fought fiercely but were ultimately overwhelmed. One by one, the attackers fell until none remained.
As the dust settled, Vardhaman surveyed the battlefield. The casualties were significant, but they had survived. He made his way back to the queen's carriage, relieved to find her safe.
"Your Majesty, are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Nayana nodded, still catching her breath. "We are safe, thanks to you and the Danapur garrison."
Vardhaman bowed deeply. "We will ensure you reach Patliputra safely, no matter the cost."
In the womb, Siddharth felt the intense movements and the sounds of battle outside. His rhythmic kicking had played a part in alerting the guards, and now he could only hope they would prevail against the enemy onslaught.
The queen's resolve and the bravery of her guards and allies had seen them through the night. But as they resumed their journey, the memory of the ambush lingered, a stark reminder of the dangers that lay in wait.