Kalyavan struck back like a viper in heat, darting in to thrust, his legs moving too fast for Rain to see. Her own arm twitched as she thought how she would have blocked his thrust, only to realize she would have been dead. It had been a feint. However, Satyabhama managed to parry him, but only just. Rain realised the boy might have been a prancing fool, but his swordwork was not. The balance, the stance, the angle of his blade, gave him all manner of options to attack her. Yet he did not. He just mocked feints, and forced Satyabhama to frantically change her guard. Kalyavan is teasing Satyabhama. Rain had never seen anyone handle a sword better than Satyabhama, yet here this boy was playing with her as if he were an arrogant instructor, and Satyabhama a petulant student. Rain’s mouth began to taste fear. The tension made her feel sick to her stomach.

By now, Kalyavan was all over the circle, nimble as a squirrel. Satyabhama, on the other hand, was grounded. But if Rain was honest, Satyabhama seemed on the back foot now. She was no longer attacking. Rain gasped as Kalyavan’s sword hissed at Satyabhama, who dodged it narrowly, forcing away his backhanded swing and reeling back.

‘Gaia smiles on you, War Mistress,’ Kalyavan said as he stepped over a discarded pile of jute sacks packed with grains. ‘You are swift, I will grant you that. I wait with great anticipation to see how smoothly you move in bed when you surrender.’

The Greeks cheered while the Mathurans rumbled angrily.

‘Oh, you have no idea, Greek,’ Satyabhama winked, distracting him just enough to thrust her shield at him.

He jumped back with a laugh. ‘Cheeky.’

STORM was shocked to see Kalyavan flirting with Satyabhama as if she was nothing more than a pest he would swat in his own time. ‘Asshole, fucking asshole!’ she hissed through tight lips. Her ears throbbed with the diabolical rage of battle, the clashing of blades. Soldiers shoved her and she was borne back and forward in the press of avid-eyed, blood-thirsty spectators.

Storm told herself that she hated this; that it was too risky for Satyabhama to wager her life; that she wanted to break the circle and descend on Kalyavan and save the woman who had saved her. But the truth was she loved it. Loved the violence. Loved the delight it brought. She felt her heart thump as Kalyavan feinted and attacked from the right; felt her throat go hoarse from screaming when Satyabhama parried and dodged.