‘Why aren’t you worried?’ Balram huffed hotly. ‘They are within our walls! They threw disease-ridden bodies into the city! We could have a riot on our hands! Or worse, a plague that could kill us! That murderous Yaksha! I will smash his head to pulp with my mace!’

Krishna frowned. The name still felt sour on his tongue. The Magadhan Empire had given rise to many notable Generals in the decade-long War with Mathura, but none more vicious and viler than the mysterious Yaksha of Goverdhun. Krishna forced the name from his mind. Because there really wasn’t anything to worry about. He was sure the rumours about the plague were false. No army, even one under the Yaksha, would risk carrying plague-ridden bodies so close to their own camp. It would be suicide. And even if the Magadhans managed to cross the Third Sister, the Second Sister was made of sterner stuff. Higher walls, garnished with hundreds of flamers and hot-oil ducts. The Second Sister was far more special than the other Sisters in that it descended so deep into the ground that no sappers could mine under it. The only way it could be breached was if it was broken down by an Act of God. But if Balram was finally worried, Krishna would milk the opportunity dry.

‘I told you this would happen,’ Krishna replied lazily. ‘I have been warning you about it for more than five years. Mathura is fighting this War with both feet in quicksand.’ That was true enough. The War had depleted Mathura’s reserves, lost them territories outside its walls, and caused immense joy to bankers like the Sindh Guild, who were charging demonic interest rates on their loans. ‘If the Magadhans truly knew the state of our treasury, they would not have bothered to climb the Sisters. They could just have waited outside, safe behind their picket lines, and by the next full moon we would have been eating each other to stave off starvation. Not you and I, of course. We would be the first to be hanged by our devoted Senators.’

‘This is not a ‘I told you so’ moment!’ Balram snapped, unlimbering his mace. ‘It is not as if we are spoilt for choice. Now is the time for War!’

Krishna sighed. He spent more energy containing his brother within the Walls than fighting the enemy outside them. ‘Patience, Brother,’ he said for the hundredth time. ‘Nothing will happen.’

‘You said the exact same thing in the Battle of Goverdhun! What happened then, huh?’

A chariot of memories charged through Krishna’s mind. He remembered how the Yaksha had taken what was left of a newborn’s body and strapped it to his shield. Krishna had not seen the Yaksha’s face, but he had seen what followed. The Yaksha’s men had emulated their leader, tying children and babies to their longspears and standards. It was no surprise the tide of battle had turned then like a ferocious sucking ebb-tide. The Mathurans were butchered where they stood, unable to strike their swords at the shields carrying their own children.