Chapter Text
Bheem wasn’t going to die.
Not today.
Someone, possibly Baradeo himself, had decided to have mercy on him, despite his repeated failure to save Malli, and given him another chance at survival by delivering a small razor blade into his hands.
He didn’t know how, or why, but he accepted the chance; even as he was led to the gallows, he began using it to slowly but surely saw away at the ropes binding his hands.
Then, when the sounds of shooting unexpectedly broke out somewhere in the trees, with a tug of his wrists Bheem broke the final strands and snatched a rifle from the closest soldier, using it as a club against everyone who was standing close enough.
The rest of the soldiers were dispatched with equal swiftness; confusingly, none of them were shooting at him, but Bheem didn’t want to waste time finding out why. He just fought frantically for his freedom, and heaven help anyone who got in his way.
And then, as he was cutting off the air of the final man standing, a desperate cry rang out across the clearing.
“ Anna !”
Bheem turned-and there was Malli, running towards him with a look of terror she should never have had to wear-and right behind her, with a pistol in his hand, was the traitor, aiming right. At. Her.
“ Malli !”
Bheem dropped the corpse to the ground and leaped to stop him-it was cruel enough that he’d arranged for her to witness his execution in the first place, he would not allow him to take her life too-but he was moving so frustratingly slow , slower than the arm raising into the air-
He heard the bang, saw the puff of smoke rise from the pistol barrel, even felt a brief scorching hiss as the bullet flew under his outstretched arm-
And a surprised gurgle and a thud from about ten feet behind him.
Bheem landed somewhat unsteadily, and turned, and saw another soldier he must have missed collapsing to the ground, with a rapidly growing stain of crimson on the front of his tunic.
…The traitor had shot him?
No, that-it had to have been a mistake on his part. He’d been aiming at Malli-or perhaps at Bheem, and when he realized he’d missed and killed one of his comrades he would aim at them next, Bheem needed to act quickly-
Why was he lowering his hand?
Bheem pushed Malli behind him protectively, snatching up another fallen rifle and holding it by the barrel, ready to swing; the traitor would find out that the protector of the Gond was not so easily-
“Go.”
His voice was low and rough, the way it always was when he’d been pushing himself too hard, and now he was dropping his pistol-and staggering? Like he was just barely managing to stay on his own two feet.
“Run. Get out of here. You don’t have much time.”
Was that a smear of blood on his chin?
What sort of a trick was this? He had to be trying to earn another reward from the governor, or toying with him out of sheer evil pleasure, or-
For the first time since the flogging, their eyes met, and the traitor’s eyes actually looked like Ram’s instead of the policeman’s, and they were accompanied by a sad little smile.
“Go, tam’mudu .”
And then his face drained of color, and he collapsed forward into the dry grass, revealing a gaping wound in his back.
By the time Governor Scott and the rest of his men arrived at the scene, their erstwhile prisoner was just a figure in the distance, with the girl he’d come all this way for at his side, clinging to his hand-and a limp form in a bright red tunic slung over his shoulder.