Chapter 58: Volume 3 - CH 1.1

The wind that blew through the ravine was a cold, dry blade piercing through the night.

Amid such hostile environmental conditions, the fifty thousand Sindhuran troops led by Prince Rajendra crossed the Kaveri River, flowing at their border with Pars, and proceeded west.

Even Pars, proudly majestic as the great power that they were, had been routed by the invading Lusitanian army from the northwest, and with their royal capital Ecbatana occupied, it was said that their internal status was one of turmoil. Why not seize the opportunity to settle their longstanding border dispute and wrest away a vast chunk of territory? There was no mistake that doing so would be advantageous in the contention with Prince Gadhavi for the right of royal succession. Such was the ambition of Prince Rajendra.

“I’ll be damned if I let that Gadhavi take the lead. He whose name shall be etched immortal in the history of Sindhura is none other than me!”

Sitting astride a golden saddle on a pure white horse that stood out even in the darkness of night, Prince Rajendra scornfully discarded all forms of address in speaking the name of his paternal half brother, with whom he shared a mutual hatred.

It was currently the year 320 of Pars, but according to the Sindhuran calendar it was the year 321. In reality, no more than two hundred fifty years or so had passed since the founding of Sindhura, but when the calendar was established, it had been dated back by around seventy years from when the founder Kulothunga acceded to the throne. Though the claim was that it was supposed to match up with the birth of the founding father and king, Kulothunga, not a single person believed that kind of explanation. It was simply to put on a show toward the antagonistic neighboring kingdom of Pars, a display of “It is our country that has the more storied history.”

Pars was extremely unhappy about it, but they could hardly force another country to change its own calendar. Unless they were able to earn a lopsided victory in battle over them, such a thing was impossible. Regardless of Parsian displeasure, Sindhura continued to accumulate its own history with every year and every generation.

And now, Raja Karikala II had fallen ill, and his two sons were quarreling over the matter of succession.

Prince Rajendra was twenty-four years of age, exactly ten years older than Arslan, the crown prince of Pars. He had the dark brown skin of the Sindhuran people and deeply chiseled features; his was the kind of charisma that could charm with a smile. Despite this, That very charisma is naught but a facade, was what his rival Prince Gadhavi and said prince’s faction believed.

“Putting on a phony smile while slitting one’s throat. That’s the kind of man that Rajendra is,” spat his brother from a different womb, Gadhavi, in disgust. “If that bastard Rajendra had obediently acknowledged my right to succeed the throne, no ruckus whatsoever would have arisen. Though it may only be by one month, I was born before him, and my mother is of high station besides. I also have the support of the great families. He should have had nothing even resembling a chance from the start.”

Whenever brothers born from different women contended for the throne, it became an advantage for one’s mother to be of higher birth; it was the same in every country. In that regard, Gadhavi’s claim was not unwarranted. Rajendra also had his case to make in rebuttal. And what he had to say was incredibly brash.

“When it comes to either talent or ability, it is I who am more worthy of the throne. It is I who say so, so there can be no mistake. ‘Tis not that Gadhavi is all that incompetent either, but it was his misfortune to be born in the same era as me.”

It was quite a brazen way to speak, but at any rate, he succeeded in gathering the anti-Gadhavi elements in Sindhura into his own faction. Compared to his half brother, he was always very generous, and was quite popular with low-ranking soldiers and the poor. Gadhavi never showed his face before the people, living only at court and the manors of powerful families. As for Rajendra, he would casually go out on the streets, enjoying the spectacle of dancing street performers, chatting with merchants about the economy, and making merry while drunk in the taverns. Because of this, in the eyes of the populace, that Gadhavi was perched somewhere high and lofty above was an impression they could not help but have.

And so, as Gadhavi had failed in sending troops to Pars in the past month, Rajendra meant to try his own hand at it and succeed in the same thing.

.

On the west bank of the Kaveri River, at the eastern border of Pars, towered the grand visage of Fort Peshawar.

This fortress dominated the Great Continental Road as it extended to Serica in the east; within its ramparts of red sandstone were stationed twenty thousand cavalry and sixty thousand infantry. And now, it could no longer be simply considered the most vital military installation in Pars, but had also become the base for the restoration of the ruling dynasty of Pars. Just the other day, the crown prince of Pars, Arslan, had arrived at the fortress under the protection of a few subordinates.

Ever since the Parsian army had been crushed by the invading Lusitanian army at the Battle of Atropatene, the whereabouts of both Shah Andragoras III and the crown prince Arslan had been unclear, but finally, a figure whom the Parsian troops could look to as a leader had appeared.

As Arslan was fourteen years of age, he was still a callow youth, and the men and women who followed him as subordinates totalled no more than six. However, seeing as how the king Andragoras’s status remained unknown, he was, as the crown prince, the only person who could serve as a symbolic figure for the liberation and unification of Pars. Besides, among his subordinates were at least Dariun, the youngest of the Parsian Marzbans, and Narses, the former lord of Dailam, who could both be seen as fine representatives of the nation’s talent.

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The night had been long and quite eventful. The man of the silver mask, who had been tenaciously prowling after Arslan, had been toppled from the fortress ramparts, and immediately after that, there had come the report of a Sindhuran incursion.

This was no time to chase down the man of the silver mask.

Those responsible for the defense of Fort Peshawar were the two Marzbans Bahman and Keshvad, but because the aged Bahman was lacking in vitality of late, it fell entirely upon Keshvad to take command and make directions for a defensive battle.

Narses, who played the role of Prince Arslan’s strategist, had been racking his brain over how to reclaim the royal capital Ecbatana from the control of the Lusitanian invaders.

For Narses’s plans, the military power of the present sixty thousand infantry could not play any role in his calculations. There were two reasons for this. One was a political matter, for when Arslan acceded to the throne in the future, he would probably make a proclamation regarding the emancipation of the ghulam. Parsian infantry were all slaves, so to be consistent from start to finish they must be emancipated as well. Narses had already taken their futures into account.

The other reason was a military matter. In order to move sixty thousand infantry, provisions for sixty thousand must then be necessary. At the moment, there were sufficient supplies at Fort Peshawar, but these were for making a stand in the fortress against besieging enemies. If they were to send eighty thousand officers and soldiers on a long campaign, they could not go without supply routes, and they would require oxen and horses and carts for transportation. To accommodate this all was no easy task. Even if they made these accommodations, it would slow the march. Aside from that, moving swiftly with cavalry alone would lessen the logistic burden.

However, for the time being, before they proceeded on the operation to retake the capital, they must first deal with their immediate enemy, the Sindhuran army. Narses, on being consulted by Arslan, remained as cool as ever.

“Please worry not, Your Highness. Rather than saying our own forces shall emerge victorious, there are three reasons the Sindhuran army shall inevitably meet with defeat.”

“And these are?”

Arslan’s eyes, the color of a cloudless night sky, glittered as he leaned forward. When he had been previously living at court, he had learned military strategy and tactics from his tutors, but he had not found any of it interesting. And yet, Narses’s explanations were always filled with a solid persuasiveness, piquing Arslan’s curiosity.

Narses did not reply directly and turned his gaze to his friend.

“Dariun, you have the experience of sojourning in Serica. In that mighty nation, you should have learned of the three principles that ought to be heeded in waging war.”

“Heavenly timing, earthly advantage, and human accord.”

“Precisely. — Your Highness, at present occasion, the Sindhuran army violates each of these three principles.”

Narses explained. First of all, regarding “heavenly timing,” the current season was winter, and for the soldiers from the sultry southern nation of Sindhura, it was a tough time. In particular, the greatest military strength boasted by the Sindhuran army was their war elephant troops, but elephants were especially weak to the cold. One could say this was a failure of heavenly timing.

As for the second, “earthly advantage,” the Sindhuran army had crossed the border, and moreover were moving through the night. They likely meant to launch a surprise attack before dawn, but for people unfamiliar with the terrain, this had to be considered reckless.

And as for the third, “human accord,” whether it was Gadhavi or Rajendra, they had, unconcerned with their struggle for the throne, succumbed to momentary greed and come to invade Pars. If their rival in this contest were to know of this, they would no doubt swoop in on them from behind. As long as the Sindhuran army bore this risk, even if they came with a huge military force, there would be nothing to fear.

“We in your service shall break the Sindhuran army for you, Your Highness. Let us take the opportunity to secure the eastern border for around two or three years.”

Utterly composed, Narses took a single bow.

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