Kalyavan let out a low chuckle. Stripped of vanity, his boyish face looked innocent. ‘My only regret is…’ he took a deep breath and flew at her so fast that List barely saw his legs. Satyabhama ran to confront him, throwing her shield in his face. Surprised, Kalyavan ducked and found Satyabhama’s ready sword aimed at his neck. He barely managed to dodge left. The sword ripped his thin mailed shirt, and the skin below his ribs, watering the earth with his blood.

He fell to his knees, longsword slipping from his hand. Panting, he folded over. Satyabhama was behind him, turning slowly, surely… The Mathurans were screaming themselves hoarse. The Greeks were cursing, urging Kalyavan to get up. He dragged himself to his knees, bloody, dazed. He clawed for his longsword and rose. If he was to die this day, he sure as hell was not going to do it on his knees.

Satyabhama wasted no time with final words. She bought purchase on the pile of jute sacks, and leapt high at Kalyavan. Time slowed. The jump lasted an age, her arm descending in a smooth arc, its every movement standing out like a flame in darkness. Kalyavan turned a moment too late, but with a defiant cry nonetheless. He turned his blade in his hand to parry the onslaught. It was far from his best swing, his grip loose in his sticky trembling fingers. The ruby on Kalyavan’s the crosspiece of his sword caught the light, and glowed like a living thing. List shielded her eyes.

List heard Kalyavan before she saw him. His scream filled her head. Satyabhama’s sword had missed his skull but had stolen an ear. Kalyavan had a hand pressed to his head, face contorted in pain, blood bubbling from the wound between his fingers and running down his neck. He had, by some miracle, managed to twist a hair away from Satyabhama’s finisher. Having carved off Kalyavan’s ear, Satyabhama’s sword had plunged into the earth with a dull thud, the ear still stuck to the blade.

Satyabhama stood frozen in her stance, as still as a statue. Then her left hand reached up and gently touched the sword stuck in her chest, the blood running down the length of the blade.

RAIN felt her mouth go dry. Kalyavan’s sword had plunged through Satyabhama’s chest to the hilt, with the blade silhouetted against the setting sun behind her. They stood in silence a moment longer. Wind stirred the leaves of the trees lining the Wall, making them rustle, shaking a few dry bits of green down onto the shoulders of the soldiers. Strangely, now that it was quiet, Rain could hear the chirping of birds. And while she knew it was in her head, she could hear the silent scream from Krishna’s lips.