Satyabhama pursed her lips. ‘What’s the prize?’

‘No holds barred tonight. Surely you can appreciate the odds are stacked against me?’

Satyabhama looked at the sundial, and then at the dust clouds rising inside the Third Wall. She sighed. ‘Alright, I’ll stay.’

Balram ignored them both. ‘Rain, remember I will have a horn and use it to relay commands. If I fall, the horn will pass to Lady Satyabhama. And if she falls…’ he turned to look at Krishna with disapproving eyes, ‘…to Lord Krishna.’

Rain looked at Krishna, and then nodded at Balram. ‘A lot seems to rest on your horn, Sir. What if it falls silent? What if Lord Krishna is cut down?’

Krishna looked at her, aghast.

‘Sir!’ A messenger came running, panting and heaving, his face begrimed with dust and soot. He whispered something to the tall guard standing beside Rain. The guard pulled back her cowl to reveal an animated set of bluish-grey eyes under deep black hair that was cropped short and pointing in every direction. She was wiry and much too young to be a soldier. Pockmarks covered her pert nose and cheeks, and her armour was a jumble of foreign fetishes over a threadbare, stained uniform. A short sword hung in a cracked wooden scabbard at her hip. ‘The Magadhans have withdrawn their forces! We have won!’ she declared, her voice hoarse with joy.

‘Easy there, Storm,’ Rain warned, but she did not do a good job of suppressing her own smile.

Storm. Krishna grimaced. Just what are these names?

‘How?’ Balram asked, looking dismayed at being deprived of the opportunity to die heroically.

‘Uhm, we don’t know,’ the messenger murmured.

A droll silence descended amidst the disbelieving men and women of war. Krishna could not help but raise his head to the sky and laugh. His hair gleamed in the sun, offsetting his dusky skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the sunlight. ‘Guess we’ll never find the answer to your question now, Rain, will we? ‘War Mistress, time to pay up,’ Krishna smiled mischievously at Satyabhama.

Balram, leaning over the merlons, swung his neck left to right like a pendulum. ‘How did…why are they retreating?’

Satyabhama took off her helm. ‘Well, that was anticlimactic. But a wager is a wager. Come to my chambers tonight, husband. I’ll keep something special handy.’

‘Something romantic this time, Satya. Remember the fine distinction between strawberries and shackles.’ Rain and Balram exchanged horrified looks. Storm giggled. ‘Apologies for the unrequisitioned information, ladies. My brother is, of course, used to it,’ Krishna said.

‘Doesn’t mean you have to hammer me with it again and again,’ Balram grumbled. Krishna was about to jump in at that chance when Satyabhama dragged him away. Balram gave Rain a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. ‘Forgive my brother his manners, Rain.’

‘It’s alright, My Lord,’ Rain replied stoically. ‘The damage is done. All that is left for me to do now is to drink till the part of my mind that creates mental images dies a horrible death.’