* * *
Despite the lateness of the hour, Indra’s eye was bright and clear as he heard the garuda recount everything that Shukracharya had to share with the devas. The more he listened, the greater Indra’s admiration for the high priest grew, and he was forced to admit to himself that the devas had probably shown poor judgment in not picking Shukracharya as their chamberlain. The mahaguru’s ingenuity in plotting his moves against the human king was exemplary, and it crossed Indra’s mind that he couldn’t have asked for a better ally in his quest for Veeshada’s dagger.
His lips curled upward at the irony of the thought. Shukracharya was no ally. Only compulsion had brought them together and was keeping them from one another’s throats. The moment the need to cooperate ceased, they would go back to being bitter foes.
“So the rift that the mahaguru spoke of has indeed come to pass,” he smacked his thigh in satisfaction, giving Narada a broad, triumphant grin. “The thread that binds the Nine Pearls has started fraying, as the mahaguru promised it would.”
“The mahaguru says that the king’s court is in ferment, and the time is right to make the next move,” the garuda said. “He urges speed so we can capitalize on the hurt, confusion and despair prevailing in the palace.”
“Of course.” Indra jerked his head as much in assent as in a dismissal of the garuda. Then, addressing Narada, he asked, “Do we have news of Gandharvasena?”
“The prince is already here, lord. He awaits you downstairs.”
“Let us meet him.”
The two devas threaded through endless passageways and down infinite flights of stairs until they came to a broad gallery that overlooked an atrium with a large, glistening fountain at its centre. Water wafted up from it like white smoke, boiling over and cascading back into the pool at its base, where neon-coloured fish darted about amid fronds of wavy fern and riverweed.
A figure stood by the fountain, staring down at the fish, his back to Indra and Narada. On hearing their footsteps, the deva turned, and seeing them, he bowed deeply. Straightening, he looked at Indra, who appraised the deva with a small smile of approval. Tall and gracefully built, the deva had an easy, languid poise that bordered on the feminine. Locks of soft, brown hair framed his fair face, ripe with youth. The features were all clean, sharp cuts, as if hewn out of sandstone by a sculptor of exceptional skill. His light brown eyes harboured a lazy charm, with the capacity to enchant and melt every apsara in Devaloka.
Gandharvasena. His most potent weapon against Vikramaditya so far.
More powerful than the Ashvins, the Maruts or any magical yaksha from Kubera’s court. More powerful than the primeval serpent-dragon Ahi itself. Not that Indra would ever have known, had Shukracharya not revealed the secret that made Gandharvasena so lethal and devastating. An ideal weapon for a perfect vendetta.
The deva lord descended the last flight of steps into the atrium, the smile still playing on his lips as he savoured the idea of the handsome, willowy deva rattling the foundations of the palace in faraway Ujjayini.
End of Book 2
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 37
