Praxis gave a kind of stuttering wheeze, suddenly too scared to speak. He was a commanding officer, not a lowly pleb to go into the frontlines. But Praxis would die before giving the Matarchis the satisfaction of seeing his fear. Moreover, there were three airavats with his division. Yes, he would use this opportunity to inspire awe and loyalty amongst his men. None would call him Pox again.

‘Honoured to, Sir.’

SHISHUPAL tried not to panic when he heard the distant trumpeting of the airavats. The Silver Wolves had done exceptionally well. In fact, they were actually winning! He jogged behind the Wolves through the narrow alleys, avoiding the trail of bloodied bodies they left in their wake. The Wolves may have been few, but blood lust was always a good substitute for numbers. The Market Square was so close now. Just two alleys away. He just had to trust his chances that they would not run into an airavat.

Chances that disappeared when the cobbles beneath Shishupal’s boots began to tremble. The Wolves huddled in alleyways leading from a roundabout. Soon, the first of the Greeks arrived, wearing leather armour and plumed helmets, wielding spears, swords, and their round shields. The Greeks were better armed and more numerous, but the narrow alleyways reduced their advantage.

Not that it would matter in a while. Three giant-tusked leviathans marched ahead of the Greeks, shaking their huge heads left and right, brick walls on either side falling apart like stacks of cards.

‘Archers, ready!’ Rain called. ‘Aim for the eye when I give the order!’

‘Should’ve brought some pigs with us,’ Storm quipped.

‘Shut up, Storm. Here they come.’

The airavats entered the alley where Shishupal was being slowly pushed back by the fearful soldiers ahead. ‘We are going to die,’ he whispered.

‘How exciting!’ Eklavvya squeaked, eyes riveted.

Suddenly, soldiers and citizens, who had been hiding in the houses on either side, boiled into the alleyway. Some burst out from the doors, some emerged from dark niches. From the rooftops, some poured burning gavel on the third airavat in the line below. The beast roared in pain. The mahout tried to halt the beast, but agony had a way of eroding loyalty. The beast grabbed the mahout’s poking rod and tossed it along with the mahout into the air. Trumpeting, the airavat turned and shambled back the way it had come, trampling three Greek soldiers who had not been nimble enough to dodge out of the way.