The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 by Krishna Udayasankar Page A

Govinda’s eyes.
    Govinda nodded. It was a conundrum, one that he had posed to Phyrro, a scholar from the city of Elis in the Yavanas’ homeland and his followers, including the mercenary before him. He had told them that reason dictated that one always choose the second option, not because it gave one a chance to save the other person, but because there would be a greater chance of saving oneself. He had explained, they had listened, and at the end of that meeting Phyrro and his fellow scholars had chosen to revive their relations with Aryavarta and the Firewrights, sharing the knowledge that the two similar groups had built over the years. It had, as many believed, changed the destinies of both nations, and not necessarily for the best. Clearly, the scarred mercenary anticipated Govinda to reaffirm his answer of old.
    ‘Kneel, Daruka,’ Govinda commanded. Daruka, a veteran of numerous battles, complied without question or hesitation. Govinda brought his sword to rest on the nape of Daruka’s neck. ‘My answer,’ he told the astonished mercenary, ‘has changed. Because I have changed. I once told you that reason was paramount. I was wrong. I can either let myself get buried under the burden of that mistake, or I can accept it and move on to serve a cause greater than reason.’
    The Yavana’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d be a fool to listen to any explanations that you give, ever again. Do it. Strike. And if you try any tricks, it will go badly for both of you.’ Switching his sword to the other hand, he reached out and pulled out a large axe from the harness on his back even as he sheathed his sword. Using both hands, he brought the keen but heavy blade of the axe to Govinda’s neck, mirroring the sword held at Daruka’s. ‘One move, one breath out of place, and I’ll take it out on him…’ the mercenary emphasized.
    Govinda nodded. He tightened his grip on Nandaka, using the moment it gave him to observe his opponent. The Yavana’s eyes were fixed on Govinda’s wrists, set to judge the least deflection in the sword-stroke. If it seemed likely that Govinda was going to miss Daruka’s neck, even by a chance error, the mercenary would strike, killing Govinda first and then Daruka. It was why the Yavana had chosen the axe over his sword – to ensure against the possibility that in decapitating one man the blade might remain stuck in the flesh, thus leaving him weaponless. An axe promised a clean cut through flesh and bone, making it the weapon of choice for beheadings. It also made for a very predictable opponent. This, Govinda knew, was his one chance.
    ‘Forgive me, Daruka,’ he said, lifting Nandaka high in the air, gasping from the stab of pain as the dagger in his back dug deeper into his flesh. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slight rise of the mercenary’s chest as the man pulled back his axe, drawing an unerring line to Govinda’s neck.
    With a blood-curdling cry, Govinda slashed down. At the same time, the mercenary swung his axe, his eyes all the while on Govinda’s wrists. But not on Govinda’s feet. With the force of the movement that lowered his arms, Govinda kicked out with his left leg. His body tipped forward, the assassin’s axe cut through the air where his head had been. At the same time, his foot hit the Yavana’s wrist, cracking the bone. Govinda kept moving, his right foot now coming off the ground as he turned a full circle in the air, Nandaka grazing the silk of Daruka’s upper robe as it slid, harmless, off the captain’s back till the tip grazed the ground and, raising a small cloud of dust, moved on, completing its own arc to strike the Yavana mercenary on the underside of his arms, above his elbows.
    By the time Govinda stood with his feet back firmly on ground, the mercenary was writhing on the ground, his arms but bloody stumps at his shoulders. Daruka let out a loud, hard breath and, at a sign from Govinda, scrambled to his feet and went to check on the