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the prison guards brought Devala out of the forest. He did not protest as the guards chained his wrists to his ankles and unceremoniously heaped him into a dark carriage that was little more than an airless wooden box mounted onto four wheels. Shikandin emerged from the woods, throwing a delighted glance in Devala’s direction as he rode past the still-stationary carriage. By the time the prison guards were ready to leave on what Devala knew would be a slow, silent journey, Shikandin and his companions had long faded away.
    Closing his eyes, Devala let out a deep sigh, a sign of weakness that he knew he ought not to show but nevertheless failed to hold back. He expected to be left alone with the pain of his defeat and capture but, to his disgust, Sanjaya clambered on to the carriage and perched himself on the rough wooden plank set into one of the sides.
    ‘Go on,’ Sanjaya ordered the prison keepers.
    The guards exchanged glances, making it obvious that they neither approved of nor appreciated Sanjaya’s presence in the carriage with their prisoner. Sliding open the small shutter that would admit a solitary beam of light into the otherwise sealed carriage, the guards lifted into place the heavy door and barred it shut with an iron rod. In the near-darkness, Devala and Sanjaya listened as the guards ran thick chains through rings set on the outside of the carriage. Shouts of instruction and coordination filled the air and, with a jerk, the carriage began to move. Soon, all conversation on the outside ceased, and the trundle of wheels and the rise and fall of the horses’ hooves filled the air in a deceptively soothing rhythm.
    In a soft voice, Devala ventured, ‘I’m surprised, Sanjaya. You show more courage than I had expected, sitting here in the dark with me.’
    ‘As am I,’ Sanjaya replied. ‘It is your sheer foolishness that I find surprising, in the dark or otherwise.’
    ‘Foolishness? For all you know I have a dagger but a hair’s breadth away from your throat.’
    ‘If you do, that merely reaffirms my point. Only a fool lets his fear overcome his curiosity.’
    ‘Oh? What should I be curious about?’
    ‘For one, why the Vyasa insists that you remain alive when our dear friends Shikandin and Asvattama would both have loved to rip you in two and hack away at their half of your carcass? For another, why should I be here, suffering your presence, unless I thought it worth my while?’
    A shadow flickered across Devala’s face, the beginnings of uncertainty. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, terse.
    Sanjaya sat back in his seat. A beam of light fell directly into his eyes through a small crack in the wooden sides. Still, he did not blink. The carriage passed over a rut in the rough road and the beam shifted. He closed his eyes, welcoming the cool purple that swirled before them. ‘You’re not alone,’ he suddenly announced. Softly, he added, ‘You were never alone.’
    Devala’s breath was a hiss. ‘You? A Firewright?’ he asked with undisguised disbelief.
    ‘Not just any Firewright, Devala. A true Firewright. One born of the blood of those destined to rule these lands and, by Hara and Agni, I will claim that destiny!’
    Many questions needed to be asked, but Devala knew there would be time, later, to swap stories. What mattered now was the hope that had risen in him against all odds. It was therefore with reluctance that he asked, as though he would be remiss if he did not, ‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth? I’ve neither seen you, nor heard of you, though I’ve spent much of my life among the Wrights. How do I know you are who you say you are?’
    Sanjaya gave an approving nod. ‘My life is my proof. I have always shown loyalty to the Kuru kings and to the Firstborn, but I have done so to achieve certain things, and they will speak for themselves. Unless you would rather set your faith in whatever sychophant Secret Keeper that rebel Govinda Shauri will install to lord over us