A strange certainty haunted him. The certainty of death. Political prisoner or not, one look at the Resht mark on his neck and he was sure his ‘protection’ would melt away like mist on the hills. How should I go? Kill as many of these southern mongrels with his bare hands as he could? No. He should go with dignity. Like the Highmaster he was. Or ought he to wait to be taken to his captor, and take his chances with him? Or with Mati, if she was there. Surely, it was she who had planned this trap? The bitch.

Karna had lost track of time. He had tried to measure it by the changing of the guards, but he had not heard a sound from without for hours, or had it been days? By now, in the madness of blindness, Karna’s mind refused to stay still, like a doe caught in a net, tormenting him as much as his manacles.

He hung his head. He had thrown his life away, all for nothing. Arjun. He still wondered whether it had been an accident that the Prince of Bows had pierced a hole in Sudama’s head. Or had it been Shishupal’s fault? Or his own? He doubted the upcoming trial would yield any result other than the obvious one, though Duryodhan had seemed optimistic. Did it even matter? He could not blame Arjun for something he had caused. The Abyss take me!

A distant rattling made him jerk up his head. He felt a weight in the air, the weight of the sky before a ravaging storm. Keys turned in a lock. He squinted in the direction of the sound, only to be stabbed by light as the door slammed open. Through slitted eyes he saw an enormous silhouette come down the steps, lit by the flickering light of torches held by those behind him. Heavy boots scraped the moist floor, creating a menacing sound.

‘I trust our hospitality has made you feel welcome, Highmaster,’ a smooth voice said.

It did not come from the giant silhouette, but from behind him. The man stepped forward. He looked like the Goddess of Life had boiled every ounce of fat from his flesh to render him just bone, skin and hair. His eyes were like chipped stone, black and sharp. His black robes had enormous sleeves and a golden lion brooch was fastened on his chest. Around his throat he wore an enormous rudrakash; around his waist a belt of bleached crocodile leather. Karna had seen him at the ball. Narag Jhestal. The one who had caught them. Head-Priest of the Unni Ehtral.

‘Dimvak, if you will,’ Jhestal said softly.