As the initial shock wore off and realization set in, the captives found themselves surrounded by the dacoits.

“Let us leave.” Commander Abhi reasoned with the enemy, sweeping his gaze over them. “We will go in peace and there will be no more bloodshed.” He proposed in a firm, assertive voice.

After the Commander made his offer, there was silence for a few moments. Then, a burly man with long hair approached him, “And what? You bring the royal authorities back to our hideout?”

“I AM the royal authority!” roared the Commander, “the brother of the King! It is my word of honor.”

“Honor?” This time it was another man, stepping forward. “The same honor with which you slew thousands of innocent men and children in the North and then put your puppet on the throne! I spit on your honor.” The man said bitingly.

Around fifty men were there, slowly moving towards the prisoners in an ominous way. The spears and swords in their hands were waiting for them like a bed of nails.

“I warn you one last time. Do not stop us or else, you will lose your life. There is a child here.” Warrior Prince Abhi had noted Joga, who was standing afar, hiding behind Shyama. “Do you not care for the child?”

“That child has to learn someday how to pierce his enemy with a spear and he will learn it today.” The burly man raged and then bellowed, “Slay the enemy!”

With that battle cry, the mob of angry robbers charged the hostages. They faced the hostile gang with their backs to each other moving in a circle and their weapons flashed like lightening. Chaos broke out in the middle. Some bandit men were wounded or slain; even so, the odds of overpowering an angry mob of fifty able-bodied man were not favorable.

Shyama had managed to stay aloof from the skirmish so far. But he could no longer evade it.

“Joga, go, hide!” Shyama whispered to his son, voice tinged with urgency. The child, then, scurried off to hide behind the rock.

Joining his companions, Shyama warily approached the adversaries with his sword pointed at them. The black robes of the youth did not go unnoticed and they knew what Tantrics were capable of. They were treading carefully, uncertainty growing in their hearts. Clanging of the swords and spears were coming from the center of the scuffle. The enemies slashed at their captors, the warriors with their swords and the black-clad youth with congealed air weapons held tight in their hands.

Just then the cries of a child filled the space. A black-clad youth was dragging Joga, his air dagger pointed at the child. The child was sobbing hard.

“LET US LEAVE NOW! Do…do…. you fear th…this child’s death?” The youth threatened. “I… I know he is one of you and you must care about him. If you want to save him, let us go. NOW!” The youth’s words were faltering, as he yelled at the group of robbers.

There was a pregnant pause, before the burly man spoke, “If that child dies, he will die for honor.” The man made his decision known. Yet, no one moved.

The child started to sob even harder. Shyama could not bear it anymore and despite the burly man’s orders, he ran to the black-clad youth who was holding his son.

“No. Please, let him go! I beg you. Please.”

“Shyama, do not beg to these vile Tantrics. These traitors sold our Kingdom to outsiders. If your son dies today in his hands, he will die for our land, he will die in honor.”

“No, please, no.” Shyama continued, ignoring the burly man’s advice. He implored, “Please let my son go. He is innocent, he is just a child!” His eyes were brimming with tears of helpless distress.

“Then, l..l..let the prisoners GO!” The young Tantric demanded again, raising his voice.

Shyama ran back to the burly man. “Dara, please, let them go. Please. I beg you. The warrior prince has given us his word!”

“If you want me to let them go, you will have to kill me first.” Dara said, with a chilling decisiveness. Hearing that, Shyama stopped. He could not kill his longtime companion. He would be cut down if he even tried. He hurried back to the Tantric to plead one last time, before he had to use violence.

“Please let my son go.” He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. His son had somehow grown quiet.

“You know my demand.” The young Tantric persisted but his panic could be heard in his voice.

Shyama upraised his eyes, a sudden audacity flashing through them. In the next seconds, he rose and dashed towards the black-clad youth, his sword flashing. Just then, a figure swiftly tore through the air towards Shyama. The child screamed his eyes closed.

When he reopened them, Shyama was laying on the ground, bleeding from his chest where a sword had just pierced him. His bloody hands lightly touched and caressed his son’s feet, and then he closed his eyes.

The Warrior Prince, Abhiram, was standing over him, Shyama’s blood still wet on his sword. Suddenly the black-clad youth who was holding the child, slumped to the ground.

“Alok!!” His companion, the tall dark figure, ran to him. Five steps from the slumped youth was laying his severed right arm.

“Take care of him and the child. Take the Prince with you! Run back to the horses. Rana, it is you, me, and the old man now.” The Warrior Prince’s military skills kicked in as he barked orders at the leader of the Tantrics and his own companions.

“I am not leaving without you, Uncle!” The golden Prince shouted. In a flash, his Master struck him with a blow to his head that rendered him unconscious and he fell to the ground.

“Quick, Tantric. Collect the Prince.” The Sage reciprocated the Commander’s plan and turned back to the other old man, giving him a slight nod. The sage and the two knights clashed with remaining Bandits while the Tantrics gathered the wounded companions and fled; however, they could not find the child. He was already gone.

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