Time Stamp: Vikram Era: 6 Chaitra 1637 (March 1579)
Commander Vidhyadhara stood on the fortress wall, the echoes of the bombard's devastating shot still ringing in his ears. His heart sank as he surveyed the damage. The outer wall, once a formidable barrier, now bore a gaping wound. The heavy bombard had done its job, and the nomadic army was preparing for another shot.
He knew that the outer wall would not be able to withstand two or three more hits. The realization hit him like a physical blow: they could not stop the invading force. Their only option now was to delay them and buy as much time as possible for the inner defenses.
"Prepare to fall back to the inner wall!" he shouted to his men. The soldiers, faces grim but determined, began to follow his orders.
Vidhyadhara called over his trusted lieutenant, Rajan. "Rajan, listen carefully. We need to man the inner wall and prepare for the worst. The outer wall will not hold much longer."
Rajan nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "What are your orders, Commander?"
"Position our best marksmen on the inner wall," Vidhyadhara said. "They are to fire at the wall as soon as it starts collapsing. We need to create a chokepoint and reduce the number of attackers as much as possible."
Rajan saluted and moved to carry out the orders. Vidhyadhara then addressed his remaining soldiers. "We will serve as the rear guard. We must hold the line here and delay the enemy for as long as possible. Our goal is not to stop them, but to buy time for the inner defenses to prepare."
The soldiers, understanding the weight of their duty, nodded resolutely. They were ready to face the overwhelming force with bravery and determination.
The commander took a deep breath and handed over his command to Rajan. "You are in charge now, Rajan. Lead our men well. I will stay here with the rear guard."
Rajan looked at Vidhyadhara with respect and determination. "I will not let you down, Commander."
Vidhyadhara watched as Rajan and the rest of the soldiers moved to the inner wall. The tension in the air was palpable as the defenders prepared for the inevitable onslaught. The commander knew that their chances were slim, but they had to hold on. The fate of the fortress depended on their resolve.
As the nomadic army prepared to fire the bombard once again, Vidhyadhara positioned his men beside the crumbling outer wall. The roar of the bombard echoed through the air, and the ground shook as another massive stone ball hurtled towards the fortress. The wall shuddered under the impact, and stones and debris flew in all directions.
"Hold the line!" Vidhyadhara shouted. His men braced themselves, ready to face the incoming attackers.
The nomadic warriors, sensing the weakening defenses, surged forward with renewed ferocity. The defenders on the inner wall fired their weapons, trying to thin the advancing horde. Arrows and bullets flew through the air, finding their marks among the enemy ranks.
Despite their best efforts, the nomads continued to press forward. The outer wall, now barely standing, began to crumble. The defenders on the inner wall aimed at the collapsing structure, firing at the exposed attackers and creating a deadly chokepoint.
Vidhyadhara and his men engaged the enemy in brutal melee combat. Swords clashed, and the cries of battle filled the air. The commander fought with fierce determination, knowing that every moment they held the line was a moment bought for the inner defenses.
The battle raged on, and the defenders fought valiantly. But the nomadic army, with their sheer numbers and relentless assault, began to gain the upper hand. Vidhyadhara knew that their time was running out.
As the commander continued to fight, he couldn't help but think of Siddharth and Vaniika, hoping they were safe. The thought of the young prince gave him strength, and he pushed forward with renewed vigor.
The fate of the fortress hung in the balance, and Vidhyadhara knew that they had to hold on, no matter the cost. The defenders braced themselves for the final push, ready to make their last stand against the overwhelming force.
The camp of the Yarkand Sultanate spread out across the winter plain, a sea of tents and fires amidst the rugged landscape. At the center of it all stood the grand tent of Khatun Aicha Karim Khan, the young and ambitious commander of the invading force.
Aicha was a striking figure, embodying the sharp, typical beauty of her Turkic heritage. Her almond-shaped eyes, a piercing blue, contrasted starkly against her sun-kissed skin. High cheekbones and a strong jawline gave her an air of regality, while her long, raven-black hair, usually tied back in a practical braid, hinted at the untamed spirit within. Clad in a mix of traditional leather armor and practical garb, she carried herself with the poise and authority of a seasoned warrior.
Despite her youth, Aicha had risen to her position through sheer determination and cunning. She had been sent to this distant frontier by her brother, the Sultan, who saw her as a potential rival and wished to keep her occupied and far from his court. The emirs, eager to establish a puppet ruler in her stead, had conspired to send her here, thinking they could control her. But Aicha had other plans.
Her journey had begun with a daring raid on a Chinese fortress, where she had seized the heavy bombard and hand cannons. Unlike many of her contemporaries, who scorned gunpowder weapons as cumbersome and antithetical to their swift cavalry tactics, Aicha saw their potential. She understood that these weapons could change the tide of battle, giving her the edge she needed to conquer the seemingly impregnable star fortress of Bahlikiwara.
As she stood on a rise overlooking the battlefield, Aicha's sharp eyes gleamed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. She watched as her forces prepared the bombard for another shot. The massive weapon had already caused significant damage to the fortress walls, and she knew that a few more hits would bring them down entirely.
The thought filled her with pride. This fortress, which had stood as an unassailable gateway to the subcontinent, would soon fall to her might. She would make history, achieving what countless others had failed to do. The gate to the fabled farming paradise of Bharatavarsha, with its rich lands and abundant resources, would be hers to claim.
As the bombard fired again, its deafening roar echoing across the plain, Aicha smiled. The walls shuddered under the impact, and she could see the defenders scrambling to hold their positions. The fortress was on the brink of collapse, and she knew it was only a matter of time before it fell.
Turning to her gathered subordinates, she addressed them with a confident voice. "The fortress is nearly ours. Once it falls, you will have free rein. Pillage and plunder to your heart's content. Let the spoils of war be your reward."
Cheers erupted from her men, a mix of eager warriors and seasoned commanders. The promise of loot and the chance to release the pent-up pressure of battle invigorated them. They saw the impending victory as a chance to indulge in the rewards of conquest.
As Aicha retired to her tent, she felt a sense of satisfaction. Her plans were falling into place, and soon, the fortress would be hers. She began to mentally prepare for the next steps—raiding the fortress to feed her forces, and then planning the deeper incursion into the subcontinent. Her ambition knew no bounds, and she was determined to carve out a place for herself in history.
But even as she reveled in the moment, a small part of her remained wary. The defenders had proven resilient, and she knew that the final victory was never guaranteed until the enemy was utterly defeated. Still, she was confident in her strategy and the might of her forces.
In the back of her mind, the thought of her brother and the emirs lingered. She would prove them wrong. She would show them that she was not a pawn to be controlled, but a ruler in her own right. And with the fortress of Bahlikiwara as her prize, she would cement her place as a formidable power in the region.