The clang of wood on wood still rang faintly in Rudura's bones.The courtyard training had ended not long ago, but the marks of Malavatas's teaching were still fresh — the faint ache in his forearms, the sting where a strike had landed too true, and the lingering taste of dust stirred from the ground during their sparring. Sweat had dried unevenly along his hairline, leaving a faint coolness in the passing breeze.
His mind, though, felt sharper than his muscles were sore.The morning had been a relentless march through tactics puzzles, memory drills, and combat forms — each one weaving into the other until it was impossible to tell where physical skill ended and mental precision began. Malavatas believed the sword and the mind were the same weapon, merely forged of different steel. Rudura was beginning to agree.
Leaving the training ground, he passed through the quieter side of the palace. The sun was still climbing, slanting light into the garden paths where the air was fresher. There, under the shade of the oldest fig tree, Sabara stood with a clay water jar in his hands. He tipped it slowly over a row of broad-leafed plants, the trickle of water making a soft pattering sound.
Rudura slowed his pace, watching for a moment. Sabara moved without hurry, as if each motion was an agreement with the day rather than a task to finish.
He stepped closer, boots making barely a whisper on the packed soil. "Sabara," Rudura said, his voice carrying the curiosity of a boy seeking a story, "you've been to many places, haven't you?"
Sabara's head tilted slightly, but he didn't look up from the plant he was watering. "A fair few. Enough to know that for every place I have seen, there are ten more I have not."
Rudura crouched slightly, resting an elbow on his knee. "Then you can tell me… who lives beyond our lands? Are there many empires?"
Sabara's hands stilled for a moment on the jar. "Ah… you wish to hear of the world." He set the jar down beside him, straightened, and wiped his hands slowly on the cloth at his waist. His eyes moved not to Rudura, but toward the open sky above the wall — as if his thoughts had already gone far beyond it.
"The world," Sabara began, "is a patchwork of kings and peoples, some bound by iron, others only by the thin thread of fear. I will tell you what I know — but remember, boy, that knowing the names of kingdoms is not the same as knowing their hearts."
Rudura nodded, letting his face show nothing but eagerness.Names are enough for now. Hearts can be learned later — or broken if needed.
West – The Gupta Empire
Sabara's voice took on a cadence like a storyteller in a crowded hall."To the west, beyond our own fertile lands, lies the valley of the Ganga. There, where the bones of Magadha still rest beneath the soil, the Gupta Empire has risen. Sri Gupta was its founder, and in the years since his reign began, his line has spread roots deep into the river's valley."
"They are a people of gold and ink — their wealth matched by their learning. In their cities, the poets and scholars walk beside merchants weighed down by coin. Their temples shine with carved stone, their markets with fine cloth and spices from across the seas."
Rudura tilted his head. "And their armies?"
"Not as vast as the Mauryan legions once were," Sabara admitted, "but disciplined — drilled like the pulse of a drum. They fight not for conquest without purpose, but for the trade routes that feed their coffers. And in that, they are dangerous."
Rich, disciplined, and guarding the river routes… strong, but not yet overreaching. Their strength can be predicted — and so, broken.
Far West – The Roman Empire
Sabara's gaze seemed to stretch even further, as if chasing the sun. "Beyond deserts, beyond mountains, beyond lands where our caravans grow weary — there lies the Roman Empire. A world of stone and order. Their cities are built not to please the gods, but to outlast time itself. Roads run like veins through their lands, and each one leads to their heart — Rome."
"They are masters of the siege and the sword. Their armies are not gathered for a season and dismissed; they are a profession, a life sworn to the eagle banners they carry. Their engineers build walls that can hold back a flood of men and machines that tear them down just as quickly."
"Have they come here?" Rudura asked, feigning wide-eyed awe.
"No. They are far, but their reach is long in other ways. Through gold, through goods, through treaties carried by ships, their influence finds its way to us. And they are wise enough to know that sometimes gold wins more land than steel."
Far, but not unreachable. Their gold will buy many knives, but a hand that knows the blade is sharper still.
North – The Kashmir Kingdoms
"To the north," Sabara continued, "are the mountains — the gates to the sky. There you find the kingdoms of Kashmir. Valleys locked between ridges, each ruled by its own king, bound more by the snow and stone than by any oath to one another. They are horsemen without equal, archers who can strike the eye of a bird from the cliffside."
"They trade with the lands beyond — silk, spices, jade — all flowing through their mountain passes. But they are not easy to conquer, nor easy to hold. The mountains themselves fight for them."
Rudura pictured narrow passes, the echo of hooves on stone, arrows loosed from unseen ridges.Too much trouble for too little gain. Best left alone — or persuaded without blood.
South – The Tamil Powers
Sabara shifted his stance slightly, his voice lowering as though the southern kingdoms could somehow overhear. "To the south, where the air grows heavy and the seas warm, the Tamil powers hold sway. The Cholas rule with ships as their chariots, their sails casting long shadows across the eastern waters. No trade moves there without their blessing — or their price."
"The Pandyas are merchants draped in pearls and gold, their markets overflowing with spices and gems. Wealth beyond counting, but guarded jealously. The Cheras hold the western coast, shipbuilders of such craft that their vessels ride out storms like hunting hawks ride the wind."
"They war among themselves often, but if a northern king marches too far south, they stand together like brothers long estranged yet bound by blood."
United only when threatened. Keep them fighting one another, and the south will never look north with hunger.
East – The Fractured Kingdoms
Finally, Sabara's eyes shifted to the opposite horizon. "And to the east… the land is rich with rivers and forests, the soil so fertile it births harvests without much pleading. Yet the people there are like scattered seeds in a careless wind. Small kingdoms, each claiming the right to rule, each denying it to the others."
"They war not for survival, but for pride — for the shape of a crown, for a single strip of land, for insults given in generations past. Alliances there are as fleeting as morning mist. One year a neighbor is a friend; the next, a sworn enemy. They have kings, but no unity. Armies, but no discipline. Strength, but no direction."
Rudura listened, his gaze fixed eastward though his mind was already moving far ahead.
Sabara bent once more to lift the water jar. "That is the world I know, Rudura. Much lies beyond it, but those lands touch ours, trade with ours, or eye ours. To know them is to know the shape of our own borders."
Rudura nodded slowly, as if still trying to imagine it all. "It's… bigger than I thought," he said in a quiet voice.
Sabara smiled faintly, lifting the jar. "Bigger than any of us. That is why an empire must always keep its eyes open."
When Sabara turned away to tend another row of plants, Rudura remained where he was, letting the quiet sink in.
The east… divided, proud, and blind to the danger at their borders.They fight among themselves, spending their strength on enemies who share their tongue and blood.If Father sent his banners now, before they found a reason to stand together…
The thought settled in his mind like a coin into a purse — solid, certain, and carrying the weight of opportunity.
Yes. The east will fall. And they won't even see the blow coming until it's too late.
A faint smile touched his lips as he rose, brushing the dust from his knees. The garden was quiet save for the sound of water trickling from Sabara's jar, but to Rudura, the air seemed already to hum with the march of unseen armies.
(Continued in Chapter 15)