/
5. The Two Princes (i)
It was in the latter half of the twelfth month when Lord Silvermask, alias Hirmiz, returned from the capital to resume command of Arslan’s pursuit.
That was a day after the fall of Adhanah Bridge at Zandeh’s hands, the same day Keshvad chased the Sindhuran army back across the river.
At this time, the troops under Hirmiz’s command consisted of the Parsians led by Zandeh, former subordinates of the shahrdar Hojir, miscellaneous private armies aiming for the reward money for Arslan’s head, as well as Lusitanian troops lent by Guiscard, totalling over five thousand in all. Of course, however, they had difficulties cooperating with each other as they competed in their respective efforts, and their communications suffered as well.
Because of this, when those troops pursued Arslan and the others, only to find their prey escaped, they did not report such to the other companies. For Arslan and the others, that continued ineptitude became a blessing.
Nevertheless, with the likes of five thousand men prowling about the mountains, Arslan and the others had no choice but to avoid them as much as possible. Both Giv and Farangis were running short on arrows, and so could not carelessly take up their bows, instead prioritizing escape when enemies were sighted. That being so, their horses had tired. No one could say the past few days had been at all an easy experience.
Upon returning from the capital only to learn of their present situation and that absolutely no progress had been made, Hirmiz found himself with extremely mixed feelings. Though he was in the mood to curse all his subordinates as “useless incompetents,” another part of him was eager to seize and take down Arslan’s men by his own hands.
“Regardless, Zandeh, you are in quite the state. One can easily imagine the hardship you’ve undergone.”
Hirmiz’s words were mixed with sarcasm, but it was no exaggeration.
Zandeh’s face and hands were etched with countless small wounds, and there were traces of dried blood all over him.
“Be it for the esteemed sake of Your Highness Hirmiz, even if the skin were to be flayed from my entire body it would be of no consequence. More importantly, Your Highness, that wretched strategist of Arslan’s company, Narses, was discovered last evening; we’ve been keeping an eye on him ever since, so that Your Highness might punish him personally.”
Hirmiz reevaluated Zandeh in a better light, if only slightly. Not only was the intelligence gathered by this youth reliable, surprisingly, he seemed to have some talent for utilizing scouts and spies. Well, if he didn’t have at least that much in redeeming qualities, even a son of Qaran would not have been unconditionally granted such heavy responsibilities by Hirmiz.
When Saam made a complete recovery, the man would be appointed as their military strategist. He was a man both wise and possessed of good judgment. Even Zandeh, if he did not slack off but worked hard and continued to grow while accumulating more experience, could even come to surpass his late father as a valorous general.
“Right. Let’s finish that Narses first,” spat Hirmiz.
.
Narses and Afarid, each riding their own horse, galloped down the mountain trails. For quite some time Narses had not spoken a single word, remaining unresponsive even to the voice of his traveling companion. He seemed to be obsessively mulling over something or other.
Narses couldn’t even begin to count the number of minor details he had calculated incorrectly.
They should have made it to Peshawar long ago, yet they were still wandering around the nearby mountains. They kept running into the enemies looking for them in the most unexpected places, and had been forced to flee in a hurry so many times he’d lost track.
There was no organization to the enemy movements; they acted without coherency, but in return it threw off all of Narses’s calculations. There was no denying that this was a truly ironic outcome. If the enemy had consolidated their operations, it wouldn’t have been difficult for Narses to see through them, but…
“Hey Narses, don’t you think something’s kinda weird?”
The one who spoke was arguably Narses’s greatest miscalculation of all. That is, the daughter of the Zott chieftain.
“What do you find strange?”
“I noticed a while back we’ve been going around and around in circles on the same path. Look, see that ugly boulder over there? I definitely spotted it earlier too. From this angle it looks like a yawning camel.”
“Well observed.”
Narses nodded even as the girl’s description inadvertently brought a grin to his face. Of course, he had already realized the same thing long ago. Just because he’d noticed though, what was he going to do about it? That was why he hadn’t mentioned it.
The cliffs cast shadows all along the road, within which the silhouettes of horse and rider were mixed as well. Raising one’s eyes overhead, one could catch glimpses of riders evidently moving to surround Narses.
“Won’t be so easy getting away from this bunch.”
Narses had resigned himself to it. To begin with, he wasn’t the type to consider relying on martial prowess alone to escape a dangerous scenario anyway.
Ahead of them the trail opened up into a large clearing, where around fifty riders were assembled. Narses could see that they were all Parsian soldiers. They could probably be described as a few handpicked elites. Standing at their fore was a rather unwelcome opponent. It was that silver mask from before. Narses wanted to promptly turn tail and run, but even without looking over his shoulder he could tell that enemies approached from behind as well. They had no choice but to face the silver mask head on.
When the distance between them had shrunk to around twenty gaz1, Narses seized the initiative.
“Prince Hirmiz!”
The name flew from Narses’s lips and struck the man of the silver mask almost physically, like a rock from a sling.
“… How did you know?”
To deny that he was Hirmiz was to deny his entire life, his very existence. For that reason, Hirmiz could not bring himself to feign ignorance. That was precisely what Narses had aimed for, it being necessary for him to seize any possible opening to instigate a verbal battle and play for time. Nevertheless, as Narses’s doubtful “What if?” had now been realized as truth, he was unable to remain calm beyond the surface.
As he had no way of reading Narses’s mind, Hirmiz advanced his horse two, three steps.
“Fine, in any case, this saves me time. I’ve heard that your ingenuity, Narses, is second to none in the entire country. Abandon that pathetic Arslan and join me. You shall be granted a position of importance if so.”
“And by important, you mean?”
“Marzban or dibir, perhaps even framatar…”
On hearing this, Narses broke into laughter. That laughter was not entirely an act.
“What’s so funny!”
Hirmiz hated being laughed at. The two eyes of the silver mask scorched hot.
“Beg pardon,” Narses apologized, though he did not seem particularly sincere.
“… Well, no matter. So, how about it? Willing to serve me?”
“I am honored by the most generous offer, but I’m afraid I must decline.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“The moment I forsook the life of a hermit, it became my life’s greatest wish to support a liege of the finest caliber. Now that said wish has been fulfilled, if I were to simply watch it be cast aside, I would end up with naught but regrets.”
“Are you insinuating that I am of a lesser caliber than Andragoras’s brat?”
A storm brewed in Hirmiz’s voice, his pride having been dealt a severe blow.
“If you really are Prince Hirmiz, you’re of an age with Dariun. My elder by a year. And with His Highness Arslan, there’s a difference of thirteen years…” Narses deliberately took on a cold tone. “In spite of this, His Highness Arslan has already exceeded your quality. And as His Highness will continue to grow in the future, the gap shall widen ever more!”
It was as if fury radiated from the silver mask’s entire body. His right hand jerked toward the hilt of his sword, but he did not immediately draw.
Narses pushed the argument even further. All he could do was play for even just a little more time, waiting either for support to arrive or for the enemy to let down their guard.
“In order to recover the throne, you joined hands with the Lusitanians. And just what did the Lusitanians do to Maryam? What manner of things did they get up to in Pars? I’m sure you’re not unaware. Even if you are the rightful ruler of Pars, do you not think it unforgivable, what you have done to the Parsian people?”
“What about the Parsian people? Haven’t those worms groveled before a false king for sixteen years? Have they not revered a usurper as Shah?! Is it not my due, as the rightful king, to redress their sins?”
He ended with the tremor of a wrathful volcano.
“I see, so as long as they won’t acknowledge you as Shah, the people have no right to live. Is that what you’re saying?”
Narses clucked his tongue.
Hirmiz had probably lived on for sixteen years, ever since his father’s death, sustained by his conviction that he was the rightful Shah. There was no doubt Hirmiz believed that only his accession to the throne could be considered true justice. He had carried his hatred of his uncle the king, Andragoras, with him throughout his entire life.
“There is one more thing that does not sit well with me,” said Narses, resuming the verbal battle yet again. “His Highness Arslan begged me to become his subordinate. In contrast, you commanded it of me without even taking my opinion into account. For a contrary fellow like me, that really is no fun at all.”
This was the truth, spoken from the bottom of his heart. Though of course, it was hardly the time to broach such a topic. Hirmiz, with a cold smile, finished drawing his sword, but by this point he had already fallen into Narses’s trap. He was in a state of mind where he could do nothing but insist upon his own legitimacy.
“I am the son of Osroes the Fifth. I stand above all the rest of you as the rightful king of Pars. Why should I not command you?”
“My man ain’t ever gonna bend his knee to the likes of you!” shouted Afarid, who had remained silent until now. Narses reeled a bit on hearing her voice, but he left no opening for Hirmiz to cut into.
“Huh, so the former lord of Dailam, highborn shahrdaran by birth, has a predilection for lowly bandit wenches.”
For the first time, the cold smile filled with malice.
But there was no change in Narses’s expression. The surprised one was actually Afarid. She fixed wide eyes on Narses.
“Narses, you’re one of them milord types?!”
“My mother was azat. The same as you. Nothing to be surprised over. Just because one is wispuhran or wuzurgan doesn’t mean they’ll sprout horns and a tail…”
He spoke with some bitterness, but in the meantime managed to recover himself. No matter what, he could not allow Hirmiz any leeway.
“Then again, I know naught of that good fellow there. Considering that silver mask he wears, I suppose he’s hiding that he only has one eye, or perhaps maybe three.”
“I am royalty. In order to conduct myself as such, I have my reasons. Not that the likes of you would understand.”
“Why, it’s cowardice, I suppose.”
“What?”
“Hiding your face with a mask to become a Lusitanian lackey, then removing it in the guise of a liberator to proclaim yourself Shah of Pars. No sovereign’s sagacity is this: it can only be called guile. Have you no shame?”
He’d been found out. Hirmiz’s face stiffened beneath the mask. The reason he had constantly worn a mask to cover his face when he led the Lusitanian army into Pars had been exposed in a single line. It shook him.
“You dare defame the rightful Shah?” Hirmiz growled, clutching at his last straw. It was difficult to face the light gushing from his eyes.
“Rightful or illegitimate, it matters not to me,” retorted Narses. It was partly just tit for tat. But he took on such a strong tone that even Afarid was surprised. “Even if a man were not of the royal bloodline, as long as he were to govern fairly and receive the support of the people, he would make a splendid Shah. What other qualification could one ask for beyond that?”
“Silence!” snapped Hirmiz. “Those who rule Pars are the descendants of Kai Khosrow, the hero-king. You would deny even that much?”
“The one who ruled Pars before King Kai Khosrow was that Serpent King Zahhak. And before him, Sage King Jamshid. Kai Khosrow inherited the blood of neither.”
The winter wind wafted over a silence like drifting snowflakes. I suppose that’s as far as it goes, thought Narses. There had been no expectation to reach a consensus from the start, but the more they spoke, the more estranged they grew.
“I’ve heard more than enough of your nonsense. I get it now. Narses, you miscreant, you conspire to destroy all semblance of Parsian tradition and royal majesty. I thought it a pity to waste your ingenuity, but I see now I was deluded to even think about taking you in as a retainer.”
“Narses, watch out…!” whispered Afarid. For she had sensed a tremendous killing intent emanating from the silver mask.
As for Narses, who had gained much precious time until now as the verbal battle unfolded, he could not help but be pleased.
All things considered, the fact that their opinions clashed to such an extent was all the more refreshing. For as long as he lived, he would likely have no choice but to continue opposing Prince Hirmiz. In other words, Narses must devote himself ever more faithfully to Arslan and help the boy mature into a just king. Was this not the fresh start to the most interesting of lives? At the very least, it certainly wouldn’t be a bore!
Hirmiz’s longsword let off an iridescent gleam.
“All of you, stay your hands. Let me cut off his head and tongue myself.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” It was Zandeh, giant body swaying with his shout, but that name was not one Narses was familiar with. “The unworthy fool is no match for you…”
Narses swept his longsword from its scabbard as well.
“Oh, by the way. You there, you overgrown lump.” He was referring to Zandeh. Who flared up, apparently wanting to retort, only to be blithely instructed, “One more thing in addition to His Highness’s order. You, too, are a knight of Pars, so don’t you lay your hands on the woman. This is a matter of the Shah’s honor, you realize.”
“Do as he says, it’s his dying wish.”
Upon making that derisive command, Hirmiz kicked at his mount’s flanks, and man and horse came charging at Narses as one.
“Die, Narses!”
In that very instant, Narses reflected a chunk of sunlight off his blade and directed it straight at Hirmiz’s eyes.
His vision went dark.
“Argh…!”
Hirmiz’s sword cut nothing but air.
Without a moment’s delay, Narses’s extended sword sliced the other horse’s reins in two. However masterful the rider, this was not an easy situation to deal with. Hirmiz was thrown from his mount and crashed right to the dusty ground. As expected, he sprang back to his feet, resuming his stance with a swipe of his sword, only to find that his vision had yet to recover.
“Damn you, Narses! Was this not to be a normal duel?!”
“I can hardly turn my blade on the rightful Shah!”
It was a scathing line that he slung out. On Narses’s part, there had been no intention from the start to engage in any sort of joust.
“Let’s run, Afarid!”
Even as he shouted, his horse had already begun to dash away. Afarid followed after him. One rider, hot on their heels, was just about to swing down his sword when Narses turned back and tossed his acinaces at his face, sending him somersaulting off his mount.
Mayhem, yelling, and clouds of dust were left in the wake of the fugitives’ flight.