A thought came to Belisarius. If that's so… What if the new sheath is very young? It might actually be smarter…

He shook his head. "No, that's too much of a gamble."

Kungas twisted his head, quizzically. Belisarius explained: "There can't be many sheaths. Maybe only one-and she might very well still be a young girl. If so…"

He almost laughed, seeing the suddenly fierce expression on the Kushan's face.

"Tempting, isn't it, Kungas? What happens if the Malwa empire is suddenly ruled by a child? Will anyone-even Skandagupta-really listen to her?"

After a moment, Kungas expelled his breath. "No. As you say, too much of a gamble-even for a Kushan. What if she isn't? Sati was in her prime, after all, when she became the new Link."

What was too much of a gamble, even for a Kushan king, was not for a cyborg.

Not, at least, for this cyborg. Kungas and Belisarius had options. Link no longer did.

The Khmer had finished their rituals.

"Now," the thing known as Great Lady Sati commanded.

Expertly, the assassin standing behind her drove his dagger into Sati's spinal column. Just as expertly, the assassin standing before her drove his blade into her heart.

As her body slumped, a third assassin stepped forward and-with the same expertise-slit her throat from ear to ear.

A priest was there with a large bowl, to catch the sacred fluid. There was little spillage, since the goddess' heart was no longer beating.

That was good, because the blood was needed for the remaining rituals.

Those rituals done, the assassins slew all the priests but one. Then, slew themselves.

Being careful, even at the end, to keep the gore as minimal as possible.

That was not because of the needs of the rituals; which, to the contrary, normally put the gore to extensive use. But the goddess had ordered it all done quietly and economically.

Following the usual rituals would have permeated the chaundoli with a stench that the soldiers outside would have noticed almost immediately. As it was, in the heat of garam, they would notice it soon enough. Link wanted this army intact as long as possible, to keep Belisarius distracted.

The sole surviving priest remained at his duty. Simply sitting by the door to the chaundoli, that he might tell inquiring officers that the Great Lady was asleep and had given orders not to be disturbed.

In the special quarters far below the imperial palace at Kausambi, the eight year old girl known as Rani lay motionless and empty-eyed on the floor of her chamber. Her special Khmer attendants were deeply concerned, but could do nothing.

The sacred transference had happened, they knew. But it had happened much sooner than any of them had expected, including the girl herself.

She would survive, they decided. Beyond that, other than providing her with a cloth soaked in water to sip, they could only wait.

Tarun was too nervous to wait any longer. He'd gotten to the place Rajiv and he had picked long before he really needed to. It was an isolated corner in the maze of an outdoor bazaar not far from Kausambi's northernmost gate. At this time of night, the stalls were all closed and barred.

No one paid any attention to a twelve year old boy huddled in the darkness. There were many such in the city. A thief might have noticed the wrapped bundle beneath the boy's ragged cloak, but even if he had he would most likely have done nothing. What of any value could such a ragamuffin possess?

Still, the two hours Tarun waited seemed interminable to the stablekeeper's son. So, when he saw the first faint sign of dawn in the sky above, he rose and drew forth the signal rockets. There were three of them, in case of a misfire.

Nervous as he was, Tarun fumbled none of the simple tasks involved. Within seconds, one of the rockets was propped against the simple bamboo frame that held it erect, pointing at the sky. He lit the match, struck the fuse, and hurried to the other side of the stall.

He was even disciplined enough to remain there, the final seconds. If the rocket misfired, he'd retrieve the bamboo frame to use for a second.

For a wonder, nothing went wrong. The rocket didn't misfire, and it didn't blow up. It soared hundreds of yards into the dark sky above Kausambi.

It even exploded when it was supposed to. A great, bright yellow light shone over the city.

Tarun didn't spend any time admiring the sight, however. He just dropped the remaining rockets and hurried off. What would happen, would happen. He'd done his part and now simply wanted to get back to his family.

Few of the city's inhabitants ever saw the wondrous sight, for its people were mostly asleep.

The soldiers standing guard saw, of course, and raced to bring the news to their officers. Something is happening at the northern gate!

Valentinian and Anastasius and Ajatasutra and Tarun and their three Ye-tai mercenaries saw it also, of course. They arose from their own hiding place not far from the city's southern gate.

More precisely, Anastasius and Rajiv arose. The others remained in the small wagon, hidden from sight below a thin bamboo grate that held the produce which apparently filled the wagon's entire bed.

Anastasius seized the handles of the wagon, hauled it into the street, and began plodding toward the gate some fifty yards away. Rajiv walked beside him, dressed as a merchant's son. Clearly enough, the scion of a prosperous family assigned to oversee a strong but dimwitted laborer in his work.

"Why does the big guy always get stuck with these jobs?" complained Anastasius.

"Shut up," came Valentinian's voice from under the wagon's load. "You're not only as big as an ox, you look like one. Be thankful I didn't give Rajiv a whip."

Rana Sanga saw it also. And the dam shattered.

He was on his horse and charging out of the lines within a minute, with ten thousand Rajputs following.

Only Rajputs, and only half of those. Damodara would use the other half, and the Ye-tai and the kshatriya, for whatever else was needed. But this charge, the emperor knew, belonged to Rana Sanga alone.

There would be nothing imperial about it, really. Just the nation of the Rajputs, finally and truly regaining its soul.

"For the glory of Rajputana!" Sanga called, his lance and its pennant on high, in a piercing voice that was half a bellow and half a shriek.

"RAJPUTANA!" came the response from ten thousand throats.

The Malwa soldiers on the southern wall of the city did not understand what was happening. They knew only three things.

One, most of the garrison had been ordered to the northern gate.

Two, a flood-a torrent-a tidal bore of Rajput lances was pouring past them on the ground beyond the walls.

Going where?

Who could say?

They only knew the third thing. Those lances looked as sharp as the sound of the Rajput battle cry.

"Shit," said one of them.

"What are we going to do?" asked his mate in the squad.

"Don't be an idiot. Try to stay alive, what else? Do you care who the emperor is?"

"Well. No."