Chapter 67: Cracks in the Wall
The morning sky over Hyderabad trembled under the relentless roar of Sikh artillery.
Sher Singh stood at the forward command post, arms crossed, watching as Ventura's gunners systematically pounded the breaches. Massive iron balls slammed into the outer walls, sending huge chunks of ancient mud-brick crashing down in dusty clouds. Two major breaches were now clearly visible — one near the northern gate and another along the eastern curtain wall.
"They're desperate," Ventura said, lowering his telescope. "We captured a messenger trying to slip out last night. The Amirs are fighting each other inside the palace. Some want to surrender immediately. Others are calling for a suicidal breakout."
Sher Singh's eyes narrowed. "Good. Keep the pressure constant. No rest for their guns or their nerves. Prepare scaling ladders and storming parties for tonight if the breaches widen enough." He paused, then added with quiet satisfaction, "And send word to Nau Nihal Singh. Tell him the hour is approaching. We will need his blade at their back when we strike."
Ventura nodded. "The walls won't hold much longer."
Thirty miles south, Nau Nihal Singh's force moved through the pre-dawn mist like predators on the hunt.
One hundred and twenty riders now. They had buried their dead with honor and pressed on. Raaz intelligence continued to flow without fail.
"Today's target is critical," Nau Nihal told Jawahar as they rode. "The last major messenger and supply road linking Hyderabad to the southern tribes. If we cut it cleanly, no more reinforcements or news gets through."
Jawahar checked the edge of his sword. "How strong is the guard?"
"Four hundred, but split across three camps. Raaz says two of the camps are poorly fortified — mostly tired levies who've been chasing us for weeks. They're exhausted and low on morale."
Nau Nihal's voice was calm but edged with steel. "We hit the largest camp at dawn, burn their supplies and messages, then swing south to destroy the road itself. Quick. Brutal. No prolonged fighting."
The men moved with grim purpose. Weeks of lightning raids had turned them into a finely honed weapon.
They struck at first light.
Nau Nihal split the force into three precise groups. Jawahar led one to pin the northern camp. Nau Nihal took the center with fifty riders, charging straight into the main enemy position while they were still waking up.
The camp erupted into chaos.
Pistols cracked. Swords sang. Nau Nihal rode through the center like death itself, cutting down officers trying to rally their men. Jawahar's group hit from the flank, driving the defenders into confusion. Within twenty minutes the camp was ablaze — tents, supply wagons, and sacks of precious messages reduced to ash.
The enemy tried to counterattack, but their coordination was broken. Nau Nihal's riders flowed around resistance like water, striking and withdrawing, never letting the Talpurs form a solid line.
"Burn the road!" Nau Nihal ordered once the camp was ruined.
His men worked with brutal efficiency — chopping down bridge supports, digging trenches across the road, and scattering caltrops. By the time a larger enemy force arrived from the south, the vital link was crippled.
The running fight that followed was sharp but controlled. Nau Nihal lost four more men, but the enemy lost nearly sixty and their last reliable supply line.
By midday they had withdrawn to a secure hiding spot in the hills overlooking a bend in the Indus. While the men rested and tended wounds, another Raaz messenger arrived, breathing hard from a hard ride.
The note made Nau Nihal's eyes gleam with satisfaction.
Breaches in Hyderabad's outer walls expanding rapidly. Sher Singh preparing night assault. Amirs in open conflict. Many defenders deserting or hiding. City on the edge of collapse. Southern tribes have abandoned them completely.
Jawahar read it and slammed a fist into his palm. "They're finished. One good push and the city falls."
Nau Nihal folded the note and burned it carefully. "Not yet. They may still try a desperate breakout. That's when we become the hammer."
He stood and addressed his warriors, voice carrying across the hidden camp.
"You have bled and burned with me for weeks. Because of you, Hyderabad starves while our main army batters its gates. Sher Singh has sent word — the final hour is near. Stay ready. When the signal comes — a red flare over the northern wall — we charge from behind and crush them between our blades and Ventura's guns."
The men answered with a low, fierce growl of approval.
One young rider asked, "Sahib… will we finally fight alongside the main army?"
Nau Nihal placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Yes. And when we do, the enemy will learn what real fear feels like."
As evening fell, Sher Singh stood on the siege lines watching sections of Hyderabad burn.
A scout galloped up. "Another large fire to the south, Maharaj. Nau Nihal's work, no doubt."
Sher Singh smiled grimly. "He never rests. Keep the pressure on the walls. The city is breaking."
Ventura approached, his uniform dusty. "The breaches are wide enough for a serious assault tonight. The defenders are firing less — their powder must be nearly gone."
"Then prepare everything," Sher Singh ordered. "Tonight we test their will. If they break, we take the city. If they hold… we let hunger and Nau Nihal finish them."
Far to the south, Nau Nihal sat sharpening his sword by firelight, the distant thunder of cannons rolling across the plains like war drums.
The long shadow war was reaching its climax.
Soon, very soon, the final charge would come.
And Hyderabad would fall.