Up in those hills, power never stuck to one person for long. It was always split up, always changing hands depending on who was bleeding and what time of year it was. Guys would become chiefs quick, but they'd lose it all even quicker. You got your reputation from raiding, but one bad move and it was gone. Before you knew it, you were dead and buried, and nobody remembered you anyway.
That's why this decision that the council was talking about was such a big deal.
Picking one warlord – putting someone in charge instead of everyone just doing their own thing – went against everything they'd learned growing up in those hills. But sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to do.
The second meeting was way smaller, away from all the noise of the main council. Only the guys who really mattered were there. The wind had gotten mean, scraping against the rocks like a knife being pulled out of its case, slow and scary.
We can't beat him fighting like this, one of the chiefs said, no messing around. He fights like a machine.
The word left a bad taste in their mouths.
*Machine.*
Empires were machines. Up in the hills, they stayed alive *because* they weren't.
Another guy chimed in, If we run, he'll swallow us whole. If we try to raid him, he'll be ready for us. If we just sit here, he'll keep building.
Nobody said anything for a while.
Because they all understood something.
They needed someone to be in charge, to fight fire with fire.
They started throwing out names, careful at first.
Too wild.
Too old to be useful.
Too stuck up.
Too many enemies.
Every guy they talked about had something in his past that would cause problems the second they got into a fight.
One warlord was famous for being crazy when he saw blood. Another was smart, but nobody trusted him. People thought he would turn on people without missing a beat. A third guy was only loyal to his own people.
They needed someone who the enemy feared but who the other chiefs respected.
That was hard to find.
Finally, one of the older guys spoke.
Azim Khan.
Everyone reacted right away – but they kept it cool.
No cheers.
Nobody yelling.
Just thinking.
Azim Khan wasn't a kid, but he wasn't falling apart either. He'd fought the Persians, crushed rebels, and lost battles without losing his power. He wasn't known for being cruel, but he was known for being strict.
If you betrayed him, he made you pay.
If you were loyal, he took care of you.
He planned his battles like he had all the time in the world.
But the most important thing was this:
He "listened".
Azim Khan doesn't throw men away, one of the chiefs said, not happy about it.
He doesn't take silly risks, another admitted.
He doesn't care about being famous, added a third.
That was the big one.
Hari Singh Nalwa wasn't chasing fame either.
The elder nodded.
This isn't a war you win with just bravery, he said. You win it by not giving up.
Azim Khan was tough like that.
Messengers rode as fast as they could through the hills.
Not giving orders – just letting people know what was up.
Azim Khan got there two days later.
He wasn't trying to show off.
No flags waving.
Nobody yelling and screaming.
Just a few guards and eyes that saw everything.
He listened to the chiefs talk.
He didn't say a word.
When they were all done, Azim Khan said one thing.
You're not scared of the Sikh army, he said, calm as could be. You're scared of who's leading them.
Nobody argued.
Azim Khan wanted reports.
Not what people thought.
Not bragging.
Just the facts.
Roads.
Where the forts were.
When they sent out patrols.
How they reacted to things.
The more he learned, the angrier he looked.
He's squeezing us, Azim Khan said. That's the most dangerous way to take over.
Some of the chiefs didn't understand.
He's not just grabbing land, Azim Khan continued. He's cutting off our choices.
That shut everyone up.
One of the younger chiefs scoffed. He's just a kid.
Azim Khan turned to him, slow.
So was Timur once, he said.
That was all he needed to say.
Azim Khan knew that age didn't mean anything if you were disciplined and patient.
And he could see that being patient was Hari Singh Nalwa's best weapon.
Azim Khan stood up and walked over to the map.
You can't scare him, he said. You can't tire him out. You can't trick him into making a mistake.
He stopped for a second.
But you can crash the whole system.
He pointed to spots along the border.
Hit him from everywhere at once, he said. Not just little raids. A full-on storm.
Isolate the forts.
Overload the supply lines.
Make him fight on a bunch of fronts at the same time.
Make him choose, Azim Khan continued. And punish him no matter what he picks.
This wasn't how they fought in the hills.
This was a real war plan.
Azim Khan was clear about one thing.
I'm not in charge of your tribes, he said. I'm in charge of this war.
Some of the chiefs got angry.
Azim Khan didn't back down.
If you hold back your men, we lose. If you break ranks, you die. If you try to get revenge on your own, I'll leave you to rot.
He wasn't being a jerk.
He just knew what he was doing.
The chiefs got it.
This wasn't a guy who needed them to like him.
There was no ceremony.
Nobody swore on a sword or anything.
Each chief just stayed where he was if he agreed.
One by one, they stayed.
That was all it took.
The hills had picked their guy.
That night, Azim Khan stood by himself outside the camp.
He looked toward the border – toward the rocks and the silence.
You're careful, he whispered to the wind. That makes you dangerous.
He smiled a little.
So am I.
Orders went out, quiet as could be.
Men gathered.
Supplies were moved.
Roads were cleared – not for raiding, but for armies to march.
The hills started to move.
And when that many people start moving, you can't keep it a secret.
Hari Singh Nalwa read the reports at dawn.
Not one attack.
Not one raid.
Just movement.
Like they knew what they were doing.
He closed his eyes for a second.
So, he said, quiet, they picked someone smart.
He turned to his officers.
This isn't going to be a mess, Hari went on. This is going to be war.
And for the first time since he came here, Hari Singh Nalwa smiled – not because he was sure he'd win, but because he respected his enemy.
Because when you respect your enemy, you get ready.
The hills had chosen their best fighter.
The empire already had theirs.
Two smart guys were now heading for a fight – not because they were mad or trying to show off, but because that's just how things were going to be.
And when guys like that meet, everyone remembers it.