Satyabhama sputtered blood and frowned at the ruby-embedded crossguard sticking out from her ribs, and then upwards at the sun which had betrayed her. But the guilty sun was behind her, setting swiftly in its shame. Her eyes turned to Krishna. ‘Rotten luck...’ Satyabhama said, smiling. And just like that, she fell like a stone.

Krishna rushed forward even as Kalyavan caught Satyabhama, breaking her fall, pulling his sword free. Her blood welled out like a crimson tide. Her knotted hair opened then, cascading to reach below her waist. Satyabhama and Kalyavan formed a ghastly silhouette against the setting sun, looking like forlorn lovers joined in death. Kalyavan lowered her gently to the ground and ordered a Greek soldier, who stood lost in a trance, to bring her fallen shield. Kalyavan handed it to Krishna, who placed it over her.

And so, the War Mistress of Mathura slept with her shield for a blanket, covering the bloody hole in her chest.

Rain held back her tears and walked to where Kalyavan and Krishna knelt beside Satyabhama’s body. ‘An honourable death is its own reward,’ she said, her voice as dead as dreams. Bending on one knee, she closed Satyabhama’s eyes, that still held an expression of surprise.

Rising, Rain gave the terse command: ‘Wolves!’

The shocked Silver Wolves responded instantly. The ones who were close by, marched in to form a circle around Satyabhama’s body. Mathuran and Greek soldiers alike parted, giving them a wide berth. They stood at attention, their right hands over their hearts. Silent. Waiting.

Rain clicked her boots together and placed her fist on her chest. Dozens of swords were unsheathed at the same time by the Silver Wolves, all along the long stretch of the Iron Curfew, across the field of battle, and around their fallen leader.

SHISHUPAL shuddered as the sound of the synchronized unsheathing of swords rolled like a wave across the Iron Curfew. A steel salute for the War Mistress. The terrifying sound raised prickles up and down his arms.

‘That gesture is far more frightening than any war cry Eklavvya has ever heard.’

Shishupal nodded. He saw Kalyavan glance at Krishna through bloodied eyes, his face a wretched mixture of remorse and relief. Turning to his soldiers he said, ‘The sun has set. Break battle!’

Shishupal was shocked. How naïve could Kalyavan be! One did not take chances in battle. A twist of fate and the victor could find a sword through her heart. But then, Kalyavan himself was grievously wounded. Perhaps he was just buying time to retreat to a healer.