86. Gathering of a Storm
The blazing sun had only begun its ascent, casting a golden hue over the plains of Suryagarh. From the palace balcony, Harsh stood in quiet contemplation, overlooking the bustling city below. The streets were teeming with life—farmers hauling their goods to the market, children laughing in the courtyards, and blacksmiths striking iron with rhythmic clanging. The sight should have brought him satisfaction. After years of bloodshed and hardship, his kingdom was now a beacon of prosperity, with its people standing straighter, walking with pride instead of fear.
Yet, his heart was heavy.
Ishani's voice stirred him from his thoughts.
"You've barely touched your food," she said softly, her hand brushing his. Her face, once so youthful, now carried the faintest traces of time—the gentlest lines at the corners of her eyes, a reflection of years of shared struggles and victories.
Harsh turned toward her, his eyes sharper than usual.
"Something is coming," he murmured.
She arched a brow.
"Another border skirmish?" she asked, attempting to downplay the unease in his voice.
He shook his head.
"No. Bigger."
---
By midday, his fears were confirmed. Rajpurohit Vidur, Harsh's most trusted intelligence officer, returned from his long ride along the southern frontier. His face was sun-beaten, streaked with sweat and dust, but it was his eyes—grim and unflinching—that revealed the gravity of the news.
"Speak," Harsh ordered.
Vidur knelt—an instinctive reflex—but Harsh's stern gaze made him rise immediately. The officer bowed briefly instead, as was now customary.
"Sire, I bring grave tidings. The neighboring kingdoms have formed an alliance. Not just one or two—but five."
Ishani stiffened beside Harsh, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists.
"Which kingdoms?" Harsh's voice was like iron.
Vidur's jaw tightened.
"The Kingdom of Devangarh, the Rajya of Madhan, the Khamath Confederacy, and the Dhundhar Principality have all aligned with Lohagarh."
A muscle twitched in Harsh's cheek.
Five. Five entire realms prepared to descend upon Suryagarh.
"Are they moving together or planning separate strikes?" Ishani's voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, calculating.
Vidur shook his head.
"Together. Their envoys have met in Lohagarh. I spoke with a merchant who saw their heralds raise the flags of unity in battle. They have declared Suryagarh a 'rogue kingdom'—claiming your reforms threaten the natural order."
Harsh's eyes narrowed. The natural order—the very system he had spent years dismantling.
"How many soldiers?" Harsh asked, his voice low and steady.
Vidur's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"At least two hundred thousand in total, with mercenaries and war elephants bolstering their forces."
The weight of the number lingered in the room. Even with his powerful and well-trained army, Harsh knew he was outnumbered five to one.
---
In the following days, the winds of war swept through the region. Scouts reported that the coalition armies were marching from all directions, their banners flying high. The kingdom's borders—once calm—were now restless with the tramp of enemy boots.
In the war room, Harsh convened with his generals and advisors. Maps were sprawled across the table, marking the neighboring regions with red ink.
"Here," General Raghunath stabbed a finger at the map, "the Khamath forces are crossing the river's mouth. Their cavalry can reach our eastern settlements in days."
Beside him, Commander Aditya added,
"The Lohagarh forces are moving from the west. Their infantry is slow but relentless. They'll hit the iron mines first—cutting off our metal supplies."
Harsh remained silent, his eyes sweeping across the map. He was being surrounded, pincered from every direction.
Ishani spoke next.
"We cannot fight on all fronts simultaneously," she said. "Divide and weaken them—force them into separate battles. If we hold the western pass, the Madhan and Lohagarh forces won't be able to join the Khamath troops. The Devangarh cavalry will be exposed without infantry support."
Harsh's eyes glimmered with subtle admiration. Her tactical sharpness had only grown over the years.
"Divide and conquer," he murmured, running his hand over the worn edges of the map.
The table fell silent as Harsh slowly drew his dagger, the steel tip gliding across the parchment. With deliberate cuts, he traced three defensive lines.
"We won't hold them at the borders," he declared.
The generals exchanged glances, uncertain.
"We'll let them come," Harsh's voice hardened. "We'll let them spill into the land like a flood, and then we will drown them in it."
---
The enemy came with roaring drums and thunderous hooves. Thousands of feet trampled the plains as the coalition's vanguard clashed with Suryagarh's eastern defenses. The sky darkened with the smoke of burning villages, and the scent of blood was heavy in the air.
But Harsh was prepared.
His ironclad cavalry, with advanced armor and mounted crossbows, clashed with the enemy in a hurricane of steel and fire. The archers rained death from the ramparts, while rows of pike-wielding foot soldiers impaled the coalition's front line.
On the western front, the coalition's siege engines rumbled forward—catapults hurling boulders against the fortress walls. But Harsh's men emerged from hidden tunnels, striking the siege engineers from behind, severing their supply lines.
The battlefield was painted red, corpses heaping on the dirt like broken dolls. Suryagarh's soldiers, though heavily outnumbered, fought like demons—their loyalty to Harsh unshaken, their resolve forged in the fires of his ideals.
---
Within days, the coalition realized they were losing their cohesion.
The nobles had expected an easy conquest, but Suryagarh's forces were too well-trained, too disciplined.
Whispers of doubt and desertion slithered through the enemy ranks. The mercenaries, hired with promises of riches, began slipping away under the cover of darkness, unwilling to fight against Harsh's unforgiving soldiers.
In a desperate attempt, King Bhaskar of Lohagarh led his elite cavalry in a reckless charge. Harsh, observing from the central watchtower, narrowed his eyes.
"Fools."
He raised his hand and gave the signal. Flaming oil barrels were hurled from the fort walls, creating a blazing inferno that cut through the charging cavalry. The horses screamed as they burned, their riders falling to the ground, only to be trampled by their own forces.
The coalition began to splinter.
---
As the last light of day faded, Harsh stood atop the western fortress wall, watching the enemy scramble in disarray. Smoke billowed across the horizon, and the stench of burning flesh stung the air.
Ishani joined him, her face smeared with soot and blood, yet her eyes were steady.
"They're breaking," she whispered.
Harsh's eyes were cold.
"No." His voice was hard. "They're running."
His gaze shifted to his commanders below, raising his sword high.
"No mercy. Let none of them leave with their lives."
And with that, the Suryagarh cavalry descended, cutting through the routed coalition like a scythe through wheat.
The first battle of the Coalition War had been won.
But Harsh knew—it was only the beginning.
---