A tremendous roar came from north of Delhi, and even the sandalwood carvings in the Red Fort's audience hall were shattered into several pieces by the continuous tremors.
Dust sifted down from the palace roof, scattering across the crown of Alam II, seated upright upon his golden throne.
Yet the Mughal Emperor sat with his back straight, a mist clouding his gray-white eyes. His fingertips slowly rolled amber prayer beads, as though the earth-shaking cannon fire beyond the city had nothing to do with him.
The hall doors were violently thrown open. But it was not Scindia's defense officer who entered—it was the royal chief steward, Alburz.
Alam II recognized the difference in the footsteps and raised his head slightly.
In the past, anyone wishing to speak with the Emperor had to do so under the surveillance of Scindia's officers. Yet now he heard dozens of footsteps, chaotic and hurried; some people were even running. It seemed the situation outside the city was far from good.
"Your Majesty! The Sikhs have stormed in through the north gate!" Alburz's voice trembled beyond recognition. "Scindia's soldiers have all fled. From the minaret, I could see the glint of Sikh bayonets..."
Several old nobles squeezed out from behind him, their calves visibly shaking. "Your Majesty, we must flee at once!"
"If we do not leave now, we'll be trapped inside the Red Fort..."
"The Sikhs are exceedingly brutal. They'll certainly kill us all..."
"Your Majesty, leave through the south gate immediately. Go to Agra—there may still be hope."
Yes, Scindia's main force was in the Doab dealing with the United Kingdom. Only 1,200 soldiers had been left in Delhi, and more than half of them were native troops.
The Sikh God of War had also used every means available to mobilize the city's