Chapter 53: Volume 2 - CH 5.2

Some kind of strategist he was. Narses smiled wryly on his horse as he thought this to himself. If he really were a strategist, shouldn’t he have gone to a little more effort at the time to obfuscate his true feelings?

Even if his opponent were the Shah or a prince, he wasn’t about to keep mum regarding the things he wanted to say. Not saying anything was rather odious, and would only become more of a nuisance later on. That was Narses’s fundamental nature.

In sudden realization, Narses looked over at the daughter of the Zott chieftain.

“Listen, Afarid, there are two things you must not speak of to anyone else. That the man of the silver mask is named Hirmiz in truth, and all that he had to say earlier. All right?”

Afarid, on her own horse, had been glancing over her shoulder from time to time to check that they were safe, but she gave a big nod in response to Narses’s voice.

“Got it. If you say so, Narses, I won’t tell a soul. Promise.”

“Swear on the honor of the Zott?”

“I swear on the honor of the Zott!”

The girl, deeply earnest in her reply, let out a giggle. Her voice was filled with absolute faith and affection for Narses.

“It’s a secret, Narses. Just between the two of us.”

What she said made Narses, for whom the situation had become quite grave, want to laugh, but he offered only a brief strained smile without otherwise responding.

From behind them, the rumble of hoofbeats drew close.

Narses’s expression grew stiff. Without even looking, he knew it was Hirmiz’s party in pursuit. If they caught up, he couldn’t pull off some clever ruse or fancy rhetoric anymore. One on one against Hirmiz, he didn’t think he would be outmatched, but Afarid was with him, and their enemies numbered quite a few. The two of them could only urge their horses faster.

“Over there! That’s Narses!” yelled a knight in the pursuit’s vanguard, pointing at the figures of Narses and Afarid as they attempted to round the edge of a cliff. The pursuer uttered a battle cry, and with one hand drawing his sword in a slash, made to round the edge of the cliff himself.

It was in that moment.

Black-fletched arrows whistled over in flight, piercing the trunk of the foremost knight, who was blown off his horse.

The bow had an incredibly heavy draw. The three arrows that came flying next in succession instantly killed three more knights, dashing them to the ground. The force of impact was so strong that the arrows sank into their bodies all the way to the edge of the feathers.

As he watched the pursuit withdrawing in panicked fright, a certain knight in black, with bow in hand, turned back around with a bold grin. It was Dariun, who had come searching for Narses.

“You owe me one, Narses.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t put on airs, seeing as you only got here just in the nick of time,” Narses retorted, but all the same, his breathing was a bit ragged.

“It’s wonderful to see you safe, Lord Narses.”

Elam, at least, was honest in expressing his joy.

Dariun, having slung his bow back onto his saddle, directed a curious glance at Afarid.

“Who’s this woman, by the way, Narses?”

Though it was a natural question to ask, it flustered Narses somewhat. Now, how was he supposed to explain this?

“Um, basically, this is…”

“Name’s Afarid. I’m Narses’s wife.”

This entirely unexpected self-introduction caused shocked gazes to be turned upon Narses.

“No she’s not!” Narses shouted.

Afarid, looking at him almost mischievously, continued unfazed.

“Uh-huh, truth is, we haven’t held the official ceremony yet. So we’re really just lovers for now.”

“Lovers!?”

“Lord Narses…”

Dariun and Elam stared hard at Narses, who was, in contrast, bordering on hysterics.

“No, no! I haven’t done a thing. Wife or lover or whatnot, it’s just this girl saying whatever she wants.”

“Awfully panicked, aren’t you.”

“N-Not in the slightest. This girl is the Zott chieftain’s daughter, whom I rescued from that silver-masked friend of ours. That’s all there is between us, nothing more.”

“Aw, Narses, ya don’t need to hide it,” said Afarid, adding oil to the fire.

“Please don’t say anything unnecessary. Truly, I have done nothing! We slept in separate rooms, that’s all. I haven’t done a single thing to feel guilty over, I swear.”

For the time being, Dariun, clearly trying to hold back his laughter, watched Narses getting all worked up trying to explain himself. But in the end he cleared his throat.

“Well, what’s done is done, Narses…”

“And just what do you mean by that!? I’ve done nothing of the sort!”

“Yes, I know. Anyway, we can talk about it later. Are you taking the girl along to Peshawar?”

Dariun, at least, was perfectly calm. Narses was able to cool his head at least a bit.

“That’s right, I almost forgot. After all, Afarid, you’re the daughter of the Zott chieftain, right? You probably need to take over the clan in place of your late father. You’ll be returning to your clan again, won’t you?”

Both Narses’s voice and expression were filled with undisguised hope, but Afarid nonchalantly waved her shapely hands in denial.

“Ah, no worries. I got a big bro, see. My Ma’s different from his, and besides, maybe he’s got a good head on his shoulders but he’s got a nasty personality to go with it. Even if I do go back, we’ll just get in a fight. I’ll probably run away or get chased out or somethin’. So you don’t got to worry.”

“Like that’ll keep me from worrying,” Narses moaned, but his gaze happened to shift then to something shocking.

For Elam, in complete silence, had quickened the pace of his horse and gone forward all by himself without even waiting.

“Hey, Elam…”

When Narses called out, his youthful retak turned his head with a terribly cold look in his eye.

“Let us make haste, Lord Dariun. Any moment now the pursuit will come again, and I am sure His Highness Arslan eagerly awaits our return.”

Deliberately ignoring his master as he spoke, he promptly advanced his horse once more.

.

At dawn the next day, Dariun, Narses, and the other two reunited with Arslan’s group.

“Narses, Narses, I’m so glad you’re safe. Truly, it’s wonderful.”

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Prince Arslan, reaching out from his horse, clasped the former lord of Dailam’s hand in his own. Narses, feeling a surge of genuine emotion himself, apologized from the bottom of his heart.

“My deepest apologies for having worried Your Highness. Why, rest assured, I shan’t die so easily ’til I have become your court artist, as was promised.”

At those words, Dariun hid his laugh with a cough.

As one might expect, Afarid turned quite meek upon being introduced to the prince. Facing a king’s son seemed to make her nervous. She said something along the lines of, “I, too, shall serve Your Highness and work hard for the sake of the nation.” Then again, Arslan’s adversary, the man of the silver mask, was indeed her object of vengeance, and it was no lie that she despised the Lusitanians.

“Is that so? Well, given our present circumstances, I cannot yet offer you proper thanks, but feel free to do as you wish.”

In saying this, Arslan acknowledged Afarid as a part of their struggle.

What a kind prince, Narses thought. He hoped the boy would continue to maintain that gentle disposition.

If Arslan were to turn out like Hirmiz, a ruler who placed country above people, and throne above country, there would be no salvation for the Parsian people. It was probably natural for Hirmiz to feel such fury and hatred and thirst for vengeance; sympathizing with him was fine. However, it was hardly acceptable that he had made a sacrifice of everybody else to satisfy his own vengeful desires.

“All things considered, the sins of Andragoras also run deep. In order to obtain Queen Tahmineh for himself, just how much did it cost him, how much damage did he effect? One could go as far as to say he’s reaped what he’s sowed…”

In truth, Narses did not have complete confidence in his own choices either. Was it right or wrong that he had not divulged the man of the silver mask’s true identity to either Arslan or Dariun?

When this prince learned of the secret of his own birth, what would happen? Narses wasn’t just trying to make predictions; rather, he was all too aware of his own apprehension.

.

Fort Peshawar appeared to the east at last before the entire party. Beyond the crags and sparse forests, walls and towers of red sandstone could be seen. There was still a distance of around eight amaj1. However, before their eyes was a deep river valley, preventing them from advancing straight forward. As they had to search downstream for a crossing, the party advanced their horses in the direction of the current for the time being.

Then, just when they should have found a location where the currents were shallow and not as strong, they happened upon troops waiting in ambush.

Right away they prepared to do battle: Arslan, Elam, and Afarid in the center as the other four formed a ring around them and put on a show of brandishing their swords.

With every flash, blood and destruction sprang forth, and the figures of enemy soldiers vanished from their horses.

“Capture Arslan alive! Kill the others!”

On spotting the youth baying those commands, Dariun’s eyes flashed with a sharp light. For of course, it was Zandeh.

“Haven’t learned your lesson? Foolish son of Qaran!”

“You got that right. You think I’d give up before your head is mine?”

“Fine, stay right where you are. I’ll have you give up for good.”

With a kick of his black horse’s flanks, Dariun charged forth; five or six riders formed a wall of blades in attempt to stop him, but in just a matter of moments, they were cut down left and right.

As he watched Dariun carve through the blood spray and press in on him, Zandeh fled without even giving battle, his previous gallantry disappeared who knows where. He had realized he was no match for Dariun in a joust — actually, that was not the case. Zandeh had purposely displayed this shameful behavior in order to draw Dariun away from Arslan.

Dariun, about to fall upon him with a vengeance, came to a realization about the intended tactic. He reversed direction to head back to the crown prince’s side, toward a single rider who had come slashing at Arslan, and in one stroke chopped his head open from crown to jaw. But at the same time, another rider had come swinging down his drawn blade at Arslan’s head.

It happened then.

From the sky, amid the roiling winds, hurtled a black mass. Before Arslan’s eyes, the shadow of a falcon overlapped the enemy’s face. A shriek ensued. The enemy bent back in his saddle as blood gushed from his face, shredded by sharp beak and keen claws. Dariun’s longsword swept out at the man’s torso, finishing the job the falcon had started.

“Azrael!”

At Arslan’s call, the falcon who had saved the prince sketched through the sky in a slightly steep arc and swooped down. It perched on the prince’s extended left arm and, in a rather pampered manner, voiced a single chirp.

“Azrael! Ah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it. How is Sorush? Is your brother doing well?”

Arslan had known the falcon since it was a chick. And besides, this falcon had a most reliable master.

“Everyone, Keshvad is near. He comes with reinforcements!”

That shout had the effect of agitating the enemy soldiers while encouraging his allies. It was an act of much significance. Narses, mowing down enemies right and left as blood formed a mist, found himself impressed. This prince, somehow, someway, was sensitive to what people called esprit de corps!

Wah, yelped the enemy soldiers.

The black shadows of riders had poured over the top of the ridge. Their numbers were in the thousands.

Zandeh roared. To either side of him, his men had begun to turn their horses away one after another. Even bellowing Don’t you dare run, Zandeh was unable to halt them.

“Protect His Highness the crown prince!” Keshvad commanded, twin blades raised aloft. “Yashasin2!”

“Yashasin!”

Five thousand riders sang out in unison, charging after Keshvad down the steep slope.

These five thousand riders were the group who had been in charge of Peshawar’s defense during the battle with the Sindhuran army the other day. As if to slake their bloodlust after having been unable to do battle days previously, they went forth, snapping at the heels of the fleeing enemies, scattering them, slaying them, crushing them.

The situation flipped.

Flustered and frustrated, Zandeh galloped off on his horse with clenched teeth, this time fleeing in truth. Seeing this, Dariun took up his sword, dyed all the way to the hilt in blood, and spurred on his black steed.

Faster than him, however, came Giv: “I’ll take that guy!”

He too raised his bloodstained sword and, flanking Zandeh, thrust out.

Fresh blood spurted from Zandeh’s left cheek.

Despite swaying on his horse, Zandeh clutched his reins and managed to keep his seat. With a swing of his broadsword, he parried Giv’s second strike and ran off.

“That’s a real tough one.”

Dariun smiled wryly at Giv’s sarcastic praise as he flicked the blood from his sword.

“He certainly is that. The man just won’t stay dead.”

Next to Arslan, a single knight approached.

“Oh! So it truly is Your Highness Arslan…”

Keshvad leaped from his horse in a clatter of armor and knelt on the ground.

“I welcome you in good health to these humble borderlands, Your Highness. Fort Peshawar holds twenty thousand cavalry and sixty thousand infantry, all faithfully sworn to your service.”

The surrounding fray had already reached the final stages of mop-up. Arslan checked to see that his six subordinates — more accurately, his companions — were all safe before relaxing. He dismounted and, taking Keshvad’s hands, bade him rise.

“It has been quite a while, Keshvad. Since Azrael came to my rescue, I knew you must also be near. And sure enough, here you are.”

Keshvad bowed deeply, and as he glanced at the subordinates standing to either side of Arslan, displayed a somewhat sentimental expression. He was more or less acquainted with Dariun and Narses.

In this manner, Arslan and company arrived at their destination at long last.

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