A mighty blast of wind swept through the cavern and sent Krishna tumbling. The bellower fell from his hand. He tried to rise but the wind whipped at his eyes. An armoured gauntlet tore from his arm, then a greave from his leg. His cloak tore and flapped about him like a living thing. Krishna turned to see Kalyavan had fallen to his knees, and was clawing at his chest. The very ground began to tremble and quake. It was as if Krishna could almost taste the ancient misery, the unyielding hate in Muchuk Und.

‘They will pay for what they did to me,’ Muchuk Und rasped. Krishna saw his dagger flame, as if its blade was afire. ‘Too long have we been cheated, duped, and betrayed by our masters. Vengeance shall be mine! And you will be my death offering the Yama. Oh,’ Muchuk Und suddenly squinted at the girl’s figure lying unconscious to one side, as if felled by a blow. ‘You…you are special, are you not? It seems our destinies are intertwined.’ Muchuk Und walked towards her, the black storm still billowing around the room. He pulled back the cloak from the girl’s face, and the agony in Krishna’s gut rose like a fist of fire. Oh, no...

At that moment, Kalyavan rose, grunting and cursing. Then three things happened at once. Kalyavan swung his sword, a defiant scream on his lips. Muchuk Und touched the girl’s cheek with his dagger. And the Silver Wolf opened her eyes with a jolt, her pupils enlarging as if they were exploding in her eyes.

Kalyavan stopped short as if hit by an invisible wall. His hands still raised, his body began to glow from inside like a burning ember, a glowing coal about to explode. Light poured out through his eyes and luminous cracks began to appear in his arms, his cheeks, his legs. Kalyavan screamed.

Krishna smiled. Satyaki tugged at his arm in horror, distracting him from the delights of seeing his revenge fulfilled. ‘We must leave! It is all falling apart. Shit, is that a bellower there? I’ll get it before it explodes.’

‘No,’ Krishna said. ‘Leave it.’

SHISHUPAL unsheathed his sword. Men were shouting right outside the broken door that dangled from twisted hinges. Cravens die many deaths, but the valiant tastes of it but once, he had heard a bard once tell. A lot of shit, if anyone asked him. He knew he was brave, and knew he would die swinging his sword. That did not mean he was not close to shitting his trousers. He used the anger over what had been done to Lady Rasha, to steel his nerves.

‘I can’t believe this is the place we were tasked to bring our blades to,’ a voice said, curiously speaking Sanskrit. Heavy footsteps came closer.