Departure

The Departure from Mandore

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the bustling courtyard of Mandore Fort. Carts groaned under the weight of supplies, lined up in orderly rows, ready for departure. The air buzzed with the sounds of preparation—horses neighing, men calling out orders, and the rhythmic clatter of tools being secured. Harsha stood at the heart of it all, his eyes scanning the activity with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

Beside him stood Sanjay, the royal butler and fort administrator, a man of wiry build and sharp intellect. Dressed in a simple white dhoti with a sash marking his rank, Sanjay carried a ledger tucked under his arm, noting down every detail with meticulous precision.

"Prince Harsha," Sanjay began, his tone steady yet respectful, "the supplies are secured. Twenty carts of wheat, ten of ghee, and an equal number carrying fodder for the horses. The animals themselves are in prime condition—four hundred stallions, ready for travel and battle."

Harsha nodded approvingly. "Excellent. And the... special cargo?"

Sanjay's lips curled into a faint smile, and he gestured toward a cluster of heavily guarded carts positioned discreetly at the rear of the convoy. "Hidden beneath layers of grain sacks and wool bundles, as you instructed. No one but us knows of its contents."

Harsha's gaze lingered on the secret carts, his expression unreadable. Within them lay his "secret weapon," a cache of advanced steel weapons forged from the new blast furnace, experimental longbows with extended range, and a small yet devastating stash of incendiary devices he had conceptualized. These tools, carefully concealed, were meant to turn the tide in the battles to come.

"Good," Harsha said, his voice firm. "Ensure their guards remain vigilant. Not even a whisper of their presence must escape."

Sanjay bowed slightly. "It will be done, my prince."

Dividing the Forces

As the final preparations neared completion, Harsha called his commanders—Samundra and Veerendra—to a private meeting beneath the shade of a banyan tree near the fort gates. A map of the region was spread out before them, weighted down with stones to keep the wind from stealing it away.

"We will divide into three units," Harsha began, his tone authoritative. "Samundra, you will lead the vanguard. Your task is to secure the route ahead, ensuring the safety of our convoy. Scout for potential ambush points and report any unusual activity immediately."

Samundra, a quiet and calculated man with a natural aptitude for naval and ground logistics, nodded. "I will keep the path clear, my prince."

Harsha turned to Veerendra, a towering warrior with the presence of a storm. "Veerendra, you will lead the main body. Protect the supplies and maintain order among the men. The bandits will target our provisions before anything else, so you must ensure their safety."

Veerendra grinned, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. "Let them try. They'll find more than they bargained for."

Finally, Harsha spoke of his own role. "I will command the rearguard. We will remain vigilant for threats from behind and act as a reserve force should either of you encounter trouble. Communication between us must be swift—use the signal flags I provided."

The men saluted, and Harsha's heart swelled with pride. They were ready.

Intel from Bhimrao

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in the soft hues of dusk, Bhimrao, head of the royal spy network, approached Harsha in the courtyard. He moved with quiet efficiency, his presence almost unnoticed amid the chaos of final preparations.

"My prince," Bhimrao said, bowing low. "I bring urgent news. Our agents near Mandore's southern borders have confirmed the presence of a bandit stronghold. It lies in the sand hills near Merta village, hidden within the dunes."

Harsha's eyes narrowed, his mind already working through the possibilities. "How many men do they have?"

"Approximately 200," Bhimrao replied. "They are well-armed and know the terrain intimately. The villagers are terrified, and the bandits have fortified their position with makeshift barriers and traps."

Harsha considered the information for a moment before speaking. "Good work, Bhimrao. This will be our first test. We march at dawn."

The Journey Begins

As the first light of day broke over Mandore, the convoy began its slow, deliberate march southward. The vanguard under Samundra moved ahead, scouts weaving in and out of the caravan to survey the path. Veerendra's main force followed, the clatter of carts and the heavy steps of warhorses filling the air. At the rear, Harsha rode alongside his rearguard, his eyes scanning the horizon with unrelenting focus.

The desert stretched before them, a vast expanse of golden dunes that seemed to shift and ripple like waves under the rising sun. The journey was long and arduous, but every step brought them closer to their target.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Harsha called for a brief halt. He dismounted, walking among the men, offering words of encouragement and ensuring their spirits remained high. The sight of their prince, so hands-on and committed, strengthened their resolve.

As the convoy resumed its journey, Harsha's thoughts drifted to the bandit stronghold near Merta. This would not just be a test of strength but of strategy and unity. The bandits' familiarity with the terrain gave them an advantage, but Harsha had something they did not—discipline, preparation, and the element of surprise.

Ahead of him, the desert wind carried whispers of the challenges to come. Harsha tightened his grip on the reins and smiled.

The first steps toward glory had been taken. 

End of Chapter 

to be continued....