Arslan Senki

The inner and front courtyards of Fort Peshawar, enclosed by walls of red sandstone, were packed with men and horses preparing to set out.

In charge of their basic orders was the commanding officer of Peshawar, Marzban Keshvad. He briskly handed down directives from atop his horse, and though the soldiers were busy in action, they did not fall into confusion.

Clad in armor and sitting astride their beloved steeds, Dariun and Narses observed the scene while conversing in low tones.

"Haven't you always claimed that using a small number to defeat a larger force is an improper usage of troops? Did you change your mind?"

"No, nothing has changed. After all, proper usage of troops requires that one first assemble more military strength than the enemy. But this time, I think we should deliberately take the improper course. My reasons are as follows," Narses explained to his good friend.

For their purposes, the truth of His Highness Arslan's presence here must be made known to all of Pars. And in that case, it would be best if they disseminated news incorporating that truth. And to raise their reputation in one go, they should smash a great army with only a few troops. Once they established a reputation, allies would naturally come flocking in admiration.

"This time, it is we who shall cross the border and make war on Sindhuran territory. ‘Tis far too much trouble to move such a large amount of soldiers. Besides…" On Narses's intelligent face flashed an expression that was one part wicked and one part mischievous. "Besides, one way or another, isn't it more convenient to have it believed that our military strength does not amount to so much? Regardless, Dariun, I'd like for you to capture Prince Rajendra alive."

"Mission accepted. Though it'd be easier on me if it didn't matter whether he survived or not."

The Sindhuran army that had come invading numbered around fifty thousand. That the commander in charge was Prince Rajendra himself had already been established by the scouts' reports. Keshvad thoroughly fulfilled his responsibilities as the guardian of the eastern border. He was not a man who merely waved around his twin blades in battle.

Narses approached him on horse.

"Lord Keshvad, I would be most obliged if you could lend me around five hundred riders. In addition, please provide a single guide familiar with the terrain."

"Gladly. But is a mere five hundred all right? I would not mind lending ten times as many."

"No, five hundred is sufficient. Even so, I ask you to devote yourself to defense for now, and not deploy from the fort. If the Sindhuran army begins to retreat, I shall send a signal; if you engage in pursuit then, victory should be attained without much trouble."

Relying on Farangis and Giv to stay by Arslan as his bodyguards, Narses called over the guide and swiftly made arrangements.

After he completed all his preparations, Narses explained the situation to Arslan and asked for his consent regarding what had been arranged.

The prince replied, "If it is you, Narses, who has arranged it, then I have no objections. You need not ask my permission for every little thing."

The young strategist and former lord of Dailam smiled at the prince who so utterly trusted in him.

"Your Highness, although formulating strategies is my duty, the responsibility for judgment and final decision lies with you. Tiresome though it may be, I shall continue to beg permission for every little thing from now on."

"Understood. However, for tonight, once you are out the gates, you and Dariun should act according to your own convenience."

Having received this response, this time Narses called over his retak, the page boy Elam. As he explained the instructions he had for him, a girl about sixteen or seventeen years of age, with red-tinged hair wrapped in a blue cloth, came up to them. It was the self-proclaimed future wife of Narses, Afarid.

"If it's somethin' Elam can handle, I can do it too. Order me around however ya like."

"You nosy woman!"

"Why don't you just shush. I'm talkin' to Narses here."

"Now, now. I'll divvy it up between both of you," said Narses with a strained smile as he pacified the girl and boy and handed over a piece of Sindhuran writing on sheepskin parchment. It had been penned in Parsian script, using ink with fluorescent substance mixed in, so that it could be read even in the darkness. Even if they could not understand the meaning of the transcribed Sindhuran, they could still shout it out loud just fine.

Narses was quite busy. After the boy and girl darted off in high spirits, he once again begged a favor of Farangis and Giv.

"Lady Farangis, please keep an eye on old Bahman's speech and behavior whenever possible. The old man may perhaps seek his own death."

The beautiful kahina's emerald-like eyes glittered.

"In other words, you mean to say that the secret burdening old Bahman is of such frightening import? That he must go so far as to conceal it in death?"

"Well, to the old man it is, at least."

At Narses's words, Giv's eyes, filled with derision, flashed.

"But y'know, Sir Narses, from your point of view, wouldn't that be the more desirable outcome instead? The old guy's carrying such a dark and heavy secret. When all's said and done, the weight of it is gonna bury him. Might as well leave him be, let him destroy himself and rid ourselves of future hassle, is how I feel."

Farangis remained silent, but she looked like she didn't necessarily disagree with Giv's scathing opinion.

"All that is if the old man still refuses to say a word. Beyond just letting slip anything suggestive, if he does not reveal all the secrets he's aware of, he shall instead end up leaving behind roots of evil."

"You can say that, all right."

"Since it shall be too late for regret if he dies, I must beg this favor of you in earnest."

While circumventing the coming and going formations of men and horses, Narses rode at a walk to the plaza before the gates. Dariun had already mustered five hundred riders and was waiting for Narses to arrive.

"Let me ask you something, Dariun. This is purely a matter of conjecture. Supposing His Highness Arslan is not a legitimate inheritor of the royal bloodline, what would you do?"

The response of the knight in black was resolute, without even the slightest hesitation to be seen.

"Well, whatever the circumstances, whatever secrets there may be, His Highness Arslan is my liege. Not to mention, His Highness bears no personal responsibility whatsoever for those very circumstances and secrets."

"So that's how it is, huh. I suppose there was no need for me to have gone so far as inquiry when it comes to you. I spoke of something nonsensical. Do forgive me."

"It's nothing worth apologizing for. More importantly, Narses, you've also been serving His Highness well, but how do you truly measure his worth? If it's all right with you, can you tell me how you feel?"

"Dariun, in my thinking, His Highness Arslan does indeed possess the rare attributes of a ruler. I believe you have understood this yourself as well, but one cannot claim that His Highness views his subordinates with jealousy at all."

"Hm…"

"One who is thoughtlessly overconfident in his own martial prowess and cleverness will harbor jealousy toward his subordinates' talents and achievements. In the end, out of doubt, or out of fear, he might even end up killing them. That manner of darkness is not present in His Highness Arslan."

Under his black helm, Dariun's manly face was colored with a slight sense of confusion.

"Hearing you talk, somehow it seems like you're saying His Highness Arslan is well aware of his own incompetence, and you're saying ‘That's great!', at least from what I can tell…"

"It's not like that, Dariun."

Narses shook his head, laughing. Compared to Dariun's hair, which was so black it seemed like part of that black attire of his, Narses's hair was lighter in shade. Since days of yore, there had been constant influx of various peoples and ethnicities into Pars from both the east and the west, so hair and eye color were in truth quite diverse.

"Dariun, we are all, so to speak, horses. Allowing more or less for some conceit, we're probably counted among the famous steeds. Then that makes His Highness Arslan the rider. The rider who would handle a famous steed must be able to ride about as fast his mount would run, wouldn't you say?"

"… I see, I get it now."

Dariun nodded with a grin.

Before long, the two of them led five hundred light cavalry out the gates into the night. From a balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, Arslan gazed down upon the view of their departure. His golden helm glittered from the radiating illumination of both starlight and torchlight.

"With Sir Dariun and Sir Narses in command, five hundred riders can surely overcome five thousand. ‘Tis better to wait for the good news here with us, Your Highness."

Marzban Keshvad spoke thus, and Arslan agreed as well, but nonetheless still felt a little unable to relax. He had the sense that he was always having Dariun and Narses go into danger while he himself waited somewhere in safety. Was it not he, as crown prince, who should voluntarily venture into danger?

"You ought stay here, Your Highness. If you do not, to whom could Sir Narses and Sir Dariun return?"

Being told this by a smiling Farangis, Arslan reddened slightly and nodded. Rather than recklessly moving around on his own, entrusting things to Dariun and Narses would produce better results without fail. Nevertheless, standing firm above all others, so to speak, was enough on its own for one not yet mature to bear as a responsibility.

When Farangis, leaving Arslan behind on the balcony facing the inner courtyard, was about to head over to Keshvad to discuss arrangements for the defense, she ran into Giv walking over in the corridor.

"Where have you been? Do you not realize the trouble there shall be if you do not stay by His Highness Arslan's side?"

"I'll be there in a sec. Truth is, y'know, the old guy's room? I took a little look-see, but…"

"For that previously mentioned letter from the Eran?"

"You got it."

Keshvad's colleague, Marzban Bahman, had been a brother-in-arms of Eran Vahriz, who had died at the Battle of Atropatene. Before the battle, Vahriz had sent Bahman a letter, in which he seemed to have confided some grave secret regarding the royal family of Pars. Even if it weren't Giv, the question of where Bahman could have hidden away that letter would arouse anyone's interest.

"It don't matter if good old Gramps kicks the bucket, but if that letter falls into the hands of some fishy guy, things'll probably get complicated."

Giv himself was thought of as a "fishy guy" by others all the time, but he was cheerfully blind to that fact.

Walking toward the balcony where Arslan was after parting with Farangis, Giv brought his feet to a stop halfway through the corridor. He laid his hand on the sword at his hip, gaze roving about the nearby walls. No living shadow caught his eyes.

"… Just my imagination?"

After Giv walked off, muttering to himself, a mysterious phenomenon stirred to life in the empty corridor.

A low laughter, rich with malice, billowed slightly through the air. In a nook of the corridor covered in flagstones, two small mice were nibbling companionably at old breadcrumbs, but as if terrified, they squeaked and bristled, on guard. That laughter leaked out from within the stone walls, and was even moving leisurely through those very same walls.