On that battlefield from which shah Andragoras had departed, bloodshed continued, nevertheless. Throughout the plains, the flames showed no sign of abating, and winds picked up where fire made smoke, causing the mist to swirl chaotically in turn. In this land of Pars normally bright and blessed with sunlight, it felt as though even the weather had abandoned the once great kingdom.
Which had propelled the Lushtanian threat towards continued offensive and slaughter, so that the army of Pars no longer resisted in the name of their shah, but rather for each member’s own survival and dignity. But even if they no longer retained their strength as an army, the soldiers of Pars were yet mighty. While the Lushtanian’s proceeded to victory, it was not without spilt blood. In fact, once the warriors of Pars had broken through the great bulwark and switched to the offensive, it was soon that the number of Lushtanian casualties exceeded those of Pars. On his own, Daryun may have been able to take on half of the Lushtanian force by himself. Within the blood and flames, he had met with the battalion led by marzbān Qobād, and they had in turn wished for the other’s survival.
“What know you of the prince’s whereabouts, lord Qobād?”
“The prince…? Heck, if I know,” Qobād replied, then gave the young knight another look over and uncaringly tilted his head.
“What of your men. Ten thousand dead already?”
“I am not marzbān, presently”
Daryun could feel a bitter taste in his mouth. Qobād, though puzzled, instead offered that Daryun flee the battlefield along with his party.
“Unfortunately, I cannot, until I fulfill the promise I made to my uncle. I must find his highness Arslan.”
“Then take a hundred or so of my men with you.”
But Daryun turned down Qobād’s good will, and once again set off alone. Ten-thousand men were formidable, but a hundred would catch the eyes of his enemy and thus would only be more dangerous in addition to a sacrifice of needless lives.
As strong winds began to dispel the thick fog, the state of battlefield came clearly into view. Grass grew in between corpse after corpse, and that grass was also soaked with blood. Daryun realized he now smelled the mixing scents of blood, smoke and sweat, but there was little he could do to fight against the paralyzing stench.
He also was not aware of the five Lushtanian soldiers that had appeared before him. If he had, he may have wished to ignore and walk past them, but they had apparently taken interest in him. Which meant it would be five against one. One of party apparently thought Daryun to be an easy mark.
“It looks like a soldier of the once great Pars has gotten greedy. If he’s just gonna wonder, why don’t we guide him on his way?”
There was no reason why Daryun would have understood the Lushtanian tongue, but as the five looked to exchange insults, they gathered their spears and prodded their horses in Daryun’s direction.
For those Lushtanian knights, it was the day they would breathe their last. Daryun’s blade would slice a path towards heaven for them.
As Daryun recovered from the spray of blood of four of his enemies, he saw in his periphery the last member throw his blade away and run, but he made no effort to pursue. While the horse without its rider wondered back and forth, he recognized a blood-soaked wounded tied to the saddle. A knight of Pars had been taken captive.
While he couldn’t recall the man’s name, he did have a memory of him. He had been an officer stationed under the marzbān Shapuhl. Daryun removed the leather flask from his saddle, and when he poured water over the man’s face covered with blood and dirt, the man gave a small groan and opened his eyes.
From the injured soldier, Daryun was able to learn of prince Arslan’s direction. He had managed to break through the encircling flames and smoke, and, defended by just a mere handful of retainers, had fled eastward, he said. More, the man continued as he struggled to bear his intense pain,
“Of our marzbān, Manūchurch and Hayl have already been slain. The leader of our battalion Shapuhl sustained heavy injuries from arrow and flame, and I am unsure if he yet lives…”
Daryun’s heart grew heavy when hearing of the deaths of his comrades, but his duty had yet to be fulfilled. Daryun returned the man to the back of the horse and handed him its reins.
“If only I could see you to safety, but I am under command by the eran to search for prince Arslan. I hope that you will be able to escape through your own power.”
Riding along with the wounded soldier would quickly deplete him. Still, he could not just leave him on the battlefield. The Lushtanians slaughtered the injured without mercy. Daryun had heard they did so as a sign of the faith in their god.
Daryun took his leave, but when he had traveled around 100 gaz, he impulsively looked back. The man’s horse was once again without a rider and had stretched out its neck to prod sadly at some thing on the ground. Daryun let out a heavy sigh, then continued his journey eastward, determined to keep his eyes forward from now on.
Around him, Arslan found not a single ally. Not that he had been granted charge of many soldiers from his father in the first place. The fact that he had been allowed to move independently had not been taken for granted, but in spite his father having commanded 5,000 cavalry during his first foray into battle, Arslan had been charged with only a hundred. He had thought that through a show of his own military exploits he could prove he was worthy of greater leadership. Instead, within the chaos and flames he had managed to lose each and every man assigned to him. Half had perished in combat and the other half had become scattered. His cape was burnt, his spear bent and his horse on the verge of collapse. His body pained throughout. That he was still alive was if anything itself odd. Arslan sighed and dropped his spear.
It was as he did so that a Lushtanian knight brandished their own spear and charged his horse in Arslan’s direction. Arslan wore a golden helm that befitted a kingdom’s prince. Seeing it, the knight undoubtedly thought that he found a good quarry. Arslan felt nervousness course through him as he drew his sword and faced his attacker.
At the first clash it was Arslan’s horse that was the one to succumb, and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Arslan rolled on his back than sprang up, and with a single slash cut off the head of the spear sticking out of his horse. He surprised himself. He had not thought himself capable, but it was true that he had just saved his own life.
The knight now discarded what remained of his spear-turned-stick and drew his sword.
From his tongue now flowed the slightly broken language of Pars. The language was the common tongue used on the continent’s public roads, so that foreigners of culture were usually able to speak it to some degree.
“I offer my compliments to you, boy, in five years you may have become a swordsman of great renown through all of Pars. Unfortunately, you end today along with your kingdom. Your training will have to complete in what you heretics call Hell.”
Fierce slashes of his blade followed the knight’s ridicule. Arslan struggled to deflect the diagonal strikes from his opponent, but what he felt from his palms to his shoulders were no small impacts. Even before the last shock could dissipate, the next blow was soon to follow. Right, left, right, left, the blade continued to flash, and through what was mostly instinct and reflexes, Arslan parried each blow.
When one considered the disadvantage of standing combat versus a mounted opponent, Arslan’s resistance was close to a miracle. The knight of Lushtania may have felt abandoned by his own god in that moment. When he let out a cry of clear frustration, his horse suddenly bolted upright. Arslan feared he would be trampled under the horse’s hooves. In that same moment Arslan had stumbled, assuring the knight of his victory. Yet in the next, the horse kicked the ground, and the knight’s throat was pierced by Arslan’s thrown sword.
Arslan could hear only the sound of his own breathing, as he sat for a while in the dirt. It was the sound of galloping hooves approaching that at last caught his attention. As he turned his gaze towards the direction of the sound, he sprung up and frantically waved his arms.
“Daryun! Daryun! I’m here!”
“Thank heaven, majesty, your safe.”
The figure of the knight clad in black who dismounted his black steed and kneeled on the ground before him was the most encouraging sight to Arlsan. Daryun’s helm was painted with dried blood. Just what must he have gone through to find the young prince?
“By the command of the eran of Pars, I have searched for you, majesty.”
“Thank you. Though I wonder how my father fairs.”
“I am sure he has fled the battlefield safely, accompanied by my uncle and the athanatoi,” answered Daryun’s, pushing down his own uncertainty, then, “The shah your father was more concerned about your safety,” he lied. It was a necessary to convince the prince to escape. For a moment, Daryun’s heart faltered as he was pierced by Arslan’s eyes the color of night fall after a sunny day.
“There is no point to our lingering on this battlefield any longer. For the sake of your concerned father, consider first your own safety.”
“I understand. But won’t we have to cross the fields to return to the capital? Even with your abilities, is such a journey possible?”
But regarding that point, Daryun had formulated a plan.
“Let us rely on my friend, Narsus. He has hidden himself away within Mount Bashur. I recommend we first make our way to him and then see if an opportunity for our return to the capital presents itself.”
The prince titled his head.
“But, from what I’ve heard, there is a rift between Narsus and my father.”
“Surely, and if we had won today’s battle, we would have to meet him as a victor, which he would not abide. However strange it is to our good fortune; we are currently but lowly survivors of the defeated side.”
“Survivors… that’s right, so we are.”
Arslan’s saddened tone was not without reason.
“All the more why he will not seek to prevent us from our cause. It is as my uncle said, he is to the end a contrarian. He will aide us.”
“Yet, Daryun…”
The youth’s voice and eyes had, for the first time, turned fierce.
“The soldiers of our army remain on the battlefield. Surely, he won’t be able to ignore them?”
Daryun’s expression darkened.
“At least for today, there is nothing more we can do. I will offer you a chance at a rematch tomorrow. Because if we survive, you will have already won.”
“……”
Arslan gave a silent nod.
Currently, the fast-approaching twilight and the mist which could not block out the sun vied for control of the plains. And so were Daryun and Arslan able to avoid capture by the Lushtanian army, hiding themselves from view in the deep forest and ravine next to Mount Bashur. Even if someone had insisted upon pursuing them, witnessing the accumulation of corpses that followed in the direction of Daryun’s hoofprints, they would have been convinced to turn back. This day, the black knight of Pars who had cut down countless Lushtanians of great renown became just the slightest chink in the impenetrable armor of Pars’ invaders.
The half-moon rose in the sky, and when its light had persistently shown through the remaining mist on the plains, the battle was at last at its end.
Lushtanian soldiers patrolled the night’s battlefield illuminated fully by the moon, and upon finding a heavily injured soldier of Pars, they put an end to the lives of the “heretics” who could neither resist nor run. Their god and their holy men had both ordered they do so. That was because only the cruelest punishment would suffice for those non-believers to pay for their crime committed against the “one true god.” Any who sympathized with them was unfaithful and would in turn suffer in hell upon their death. Perhaps it was also their thirst for blood, but the Lushtanian soldiers reveled in the glory of their god Yaldabaoth as they slit the throats and dug out the entrails of their enemies.
In that year Pars 320, on the 16th day of the tenth month, on this day on the fields of Atropatene, 53,000 cavalry and 74,000 footmen were slain, as the army of Pars lost about half of its military might. Altogether, the victorious Lushtanian army had lost over 50,000 men, and while they had set the perfect trap for their enemy, they were terrified by the immense might that had risen to meet them in combat. Of course, the glorious departed would be praised as martyrs who died in the name of their god.
“Despite our ruler being ordained by god and our holy men, somehow we once again find ourselves in a foreign land covered in dead.”
“What’s wrong? They can ascend to heaven, and we who survive can take over this kingdom of Pars. It’s roads, mines, and storehouses are all ours now.”
Bodin laughed while his face was still covered with blood, but Monferrat’s expression remained displeased as the two of them road their horses to the tent of their ruler Innocentis VII. At the sound of the men of Pars’ screams as they were put to their deaths filled the night air, he was surprised. After all, in the Kingdom of Maryam which they had only just routed, they had tossed women and children, even infants, into open flames. Maryam had not even been a kingdom of heretics, and held faith in Yaldabaoth just as they did, yet just for their dismissing the Lushtanian king the ability to be head of the church they had been declared an “enemy of god.”
“Even now, their screams won’t leave my ears. Even if they are heretics, will god really give his blessing to murderers of the ungrown?”
Bodin, however, would not hear of it. In contrast to Monferrat’s gloom, booming voices from before them held his attention.
“Behold, the shah of Pars is our prisoner!”
So proclaimed the voices of hundreds of Lushtanian soldiers together now in unison.