آئین پهلوانان دیوید ای. هاردی استاتیک موومنت

CODE OF THE PAHLAVAN
DAVID A. HARDY

It was not until the elephant ran amok that Arshan began to think that Rustam may have more than a conceited blusterer.
Arshan met Rustam at the court of Nauzer Shah when they were both seventeen. Rustam was vain a peacock, ever ready to boast of what deeds he would do when he had the chance. Arshan scorned such empty boasting, especially since he knew his deeds would eclipse those of a hill-country goat-herder like Rustam.
Arshan's father had fallen in war with the Turanis and Arshan had been sent to the shah to learn the ways of a pahlavan, a hero. To be a pahlavan and live by the pahlavan's code was the only thing Arshan yearned for.
The elephant was a gift from a rajah in far-off Hind. In theory it was a bribe to Nauzer to keep the tolls on the caravan road to Babylon low. Arshan suspected it was a actually a way to get rid of an ill-tempered brute at the expense of the people of Sakastan. The beast would suffer none save its Indian mahout to approach it. The elephant sometimes broke free and ravaged a farmer's field or two. It was the terror of sheep, cattle, and horses. Even camels were intimidated. The mahout had long since given himself entirely to drink and bhang, regarding his office mostly as a way to seduce servant girls.
Nauzer waved all complaints of outraged farmers, herdsmen, and fathers aside. Nauzer was the first ruler of Sakastan to have an elephant and he made the most of it. Royal seals bore the elephant's image and on the glazed tiles that decorated Nauzer's fortified palace the shah was depicted riding the elephant, subduing rival shahs atop the elephant, and even presiding over whole tribes of elephants. In practice Nauzer stayed as far away from the trumpeting brute as he could since the day it had swatted a minor chieftain off his horse and chased the horse half a mile.
That day Arshan noted a hill-man in the courtyard, waiting for the shah's justice. The fellow was a typical hill-man, tall and lean, with a beak-like nose that jutted truculently. To Arshan he seemed agitated, pacing a muttering angrily. A passing servant said the man was there because the day before the elephant had trampled yet another field and killed a dozen sheep. The elephant was chained nearby, innocently munching its fodder, its conscience serene.
Suddenly the man paused by a stack of javelins deposited at the foot of a fighting platform. He snatched one up and hurled it with all his strength at the elephant. As Arshan watched the missile arc towards the elephant, he reflected that Nauzer's subjects were good fighters, but very unruly.
The javelin struck the elephant, which roared like a thousand bronze trumpets. Then it broke its chain and hurtled itself on the farmer. He gave a scream and then blood pooled under him. The elephant rose and saw the mahout trying to sneak away. A blow from the elephant's trunk broke the mahout's spine like a rotten twig.
The elephant raged through the courtyard, howling in fury, killing a serving girl, a warrior, and two mubids before it began hurling itself against the walls making the whole palace shook until people cried aloud that Ahriman, the Evil One himself, was shaking the earth to pieces. Arshan had climbed to the outer wall for safety. The captain of the guard ordered his men to shoot arrows at the elephant, but the beast's hide was too thick and shots aimed at the face only enraged it.
“Only a warrior with heart can slay that demon,” Rustam said. He had slipped up behind Arshan in the confusion.
“A shot to the eyes…” Arshan began.
Rustam cut him off. “A blow to the base of the skull will paralyze it. Then it could be put down. It would take a strong man and a daring heart.”
“Like you I suppose,” Arshan snapped.
“Yes in fact.” And with that Rustam vaulted into the courtyard and rushed the elephant, waving his mace. The elephant rounded on him, braying horribly. Rustam tried to flank the beast, but the elephant was wary and Rustam found himself cornered. He stood his ground, and swung his mace lustily.
Arshan gave a shout and went over the rail. Arrows flew overhead, but elephant paid no heed. It had cornered its two-legged prey and would finish it. Then Arshan's sword bit deep into its hind leg.
The elephant whirled to face the new threat. Arshan swiped at the trunk, but the monster came on inexorably. Then he saw Rustam standing atop the brute. His mace flashed in the sun and then came down. There was a terrible crack as the mace snapped in two. But he elephant staggered. Deftly Rustam swung down and opened a vein in the elephant's throat. The elephant fell.
Rustam leapt from atop the elephant with cat-like grace. For a moment Arshan thought he would approach and offer thanks to Rustam for saving his life. Instead he knelt by the elephant and said, “You were ill-tempered and over-loud, but that is often the way with a pahlavan. May Ahura Mazda shine his light upon thee, oh royal beast.”
Thunderous cheers arose from the palace walls. The guards cheered for Rustam while the young women tossed scarves to him. Rustam stood, basking in the adoration. The effect was somewhat spoiled when Rustam's mother ran to him and smothered him in kisses while upbraiding him for attacking the elephant alone.
Alone? thought Arshan.
Meanwhile, atop the palace, where Nauzer had gone to watch the end of the world, which turned into a combat between two boys and an elephant, the shah called to his royal engraver.
“Do you wish to remove the elephant from your seals, oh royal majesty?” the engraver asked.
“No,” Nauzer said. “Can you make some showing me killing the elephant?”
When the cheering had ceased and youths had been presented to Nauzer Shah and dismissed, Arshan found himself seated next to Rustam in a far corner of the shah's throne-room while the shah, the mubids, and nobles conferred. Arshan has seen the palace before, but still he marveled at the luxury of the glazed tiles, the elaborately patterned tapestries, and the gold that gleamed on the Captain of the guards' scabbard and bow case.
“Truly Nauzer Shah is the greatest king under Ahura Mazda,” Arshan said.
“Gold is not what makes a king great,” Rustam replied. “That is what my father Zal says.”
“Is he the gray-beard speaking to the king?” Arshan asked.
“A lion's mane may be gray, but he is still a lion,” Rustam said. Arshan noted the family resemblance of Zal and Rustam. Facing Zal was the shah's uncle Kai Kobad and his son Kai Kavus.
“Oh shah,” Zal said. “I am grown old in service to the shahs of Sakastan. Yet I never did learn to mince words.”
“Then have a care what you say, old man,” Kai Kavus said.
“My words are for the shah,” Zal replied. “Have a care, noble shah. The courtiers grow fat while the people grow lean. Those who flatter the shah grow in might and arrogance while noble families whose loyalty is proven by war-scars and sons sacrificed in battle are ignored. What deeds are done in the shah's name? Have not nobles been punished for criticizing some favorite at court?
The farmers and herdsmen say the shah's hand lies heavy on the land when they see how much is gathered for the royal tribute.”
“What of it?” snapped Nauzer Shah. “By the will of Ahura Mazda tribute is the shah's right and justice is the shah's duty!”
Zal shook his head. “Ahura Mazda holds his hand over the just. You will need the nobles' strong arms soon I think. Afrasiyab the khan of Turan stirs in the north.”
Kai Kavus laughed. “The shah has but to raise his whip to make the Turanian jackals scurry home.”
“Your words do not please me Zal,” Nauzer Shah said. “You may return to Zabulistan. I will let you know when I want you back.” And with that Zal bowed to the shah and with his son departed from the shah's presence. Kai Kobad shook his head. “Oh my shah, the closer you keep the lion of Zabulistan, the better you can watch and see where he will spring. Ahura Mazda grant he springs on Turan and not us.”
Though Zal had left, the grumbling did not cease. Petitions to the king kept coming and were steadfastly ignored until they came no more. Then came word of a gathering of nobles and their followers in the hills of Zabulistan.
Nauzer Shah summoned a force to meet the rebels. He took only his royal guard and a few favorites, Kai Kavus among them. Arshan too, joined the expedition. The warriors thronged the courtyard as they made ready. Arshan was just saddling his horse as Nauzer Shah passed by, Kai Kavus in attendance. The shah and his advisor were resplendent bronze helmets with scaled aventails, gleaming horse armor, and saddles chased with silver.
“It is the lad who slew the elephant, my lord,” Kai Kavus said.
“Bravely done my boy,” Nauzer Shah said.
But Arshan shook his head. “It was Rustam that killed the elephant.” Nauzer scowled and rode on.
The shah's forces met the rebels under the mountains the bordered Sakastan. Arshan was riding a few paces behind Nauzer Shah as they approached the rebels below the ragged, brown cliffs. The rebel force was small and had fallen back into a notch in the heights, hard to come at but impossible to escape. There was a call to parley from the rebels. “They want to surrender,” Kai Kavus said. Zal approached.
“So you have finally showed your traitor's hand,” Nauzer said. The shah stood in the saddle and spoke loudly enough for the assembled forces to hear. “Perhaps you think it easy to replace me. How will you like it when Zal holds the whip over you, eh?”
“They would not,” Suam said. “But I will not hold a whip over them. I remain loyal to the house of the Kaianides and the throne of the shahs. I only present you with this petition.”
Nauzer laughed. “Another petition? You have brought a large following to present it. Well, I'll read while I decide your fate and that of your followers. Now lay down your arms!”
“I'd ask you to read it now, my shah,” Zal replied. “I and these men might lay down our arms,” he gestured to the rebels, “but the rest await your answer.”
“The rest?” Nauzer said.
Suddenly the heights over the notch swarmed with men. Archers and spearmen emerged on the cliffs overlooking the royal guard. Bands of horsemen, superbly mounted on mountain ponies swarmed onto the plain and began to edge around the shah's forces. Nauzer was trapped.
The shah raged and wept, but he accepted terms. Property confiscated from the nobles was returned, the tribute was remitted, and the rebels pardoned. Nauzer's only price was that Zal be banished from his sight forever, back to Zabulistan.
The shah and his men rode wearily back to the royal castle. At the gate there was a rider, a fellow in battered bronze armor atop a horse that was near to dying from having been ridden hard. “I have urgent news, oh noble lord!” he cried. “Afrasiyab the khan of Turan has fallen upon the northern marches with fire and sword. Many hundreds have been slain. More are marched north as slaves. The nomad tribes carry all before them, looting the herds and slaying your majesty's subjects. The people of the Sakas beg you help. It is war for our very lives!”
Nauzer bowed his head. “Send summons to the nobles to rally here to form an army to fight the hordes of Turan. Kai Kavus will hold the castle against any misfortune and make sure fresh men and horses are sent north. Send summons to all, save Zal.”
The army rode north, past burning farms and folk fleeing with their families and pitiful possessions from the Turani riders. The northern region was harsh and dry, though somewhat mixed with good grassland. Beyond laid the endless steppes. Some of the nomad tribes were much like the Sakas. Those nomads, known as Scythes and Sarmates, along with the Sakas, Zabulis, Medes, Persians, and other folk were part of great Iran. These tribes spoke similar languages and worshiped the gods in the same way. But the Turani tribes were from further east. Their language was harsh and grated on Iranian ears, and the men of Turan worshiped no god save an ancient sword which they said was the god of war. They were born marauders who regarded the folk of settled lands as a wolf regards a shepherd's flock.
On the plain of Dehstan Nauzer Shah caught up with the Turanis. They were short, squat men on shaggy ponies. Arshan noticed how both horses and horsemen had large, round heads. Afrasiyab, the khan, could be seen near his horsetail standard, a freshly impaled head adorning it. The Turanis outnumbered the Sakas. All of them were mounted but few had armor. Like other nobles of Sakastan, Arshan wore a helmet and scale hauberk of bronze. He had a bow, but Saka tactics favored the charge with lance and the play of sword, axe, and iron-bound mace.
Arshan was close behind Nauzer Shah, even as the shah pushed far in front of his men to study the enemy. The shah turned back and suddenly noticed Arshan. “You are a loyal lad. That was brave work with the elephant.” He studied Arshan a moment longer. “Your horse is jaded; you'll need a fresh one for the battle.” Calling to a royal groom, Nauzer pointed out a roan and gave it to Arshan. As he saddled the roan, Arshan felt the stallion's sleek flanks, and the power in its legs. “I name you Atesh, that means the flame,” he whispered in the roan's ear.
Nauzer Shah was consulting with his nobles. “They have more men, but we have the heavier horses and better armor. Place the hill-men on the flanks to support the horse with arrow-shot. The mounted nobles and their men will break the Turani horde in the center.” Nauzer laughed. “That is if Afrasiyab doesn't run away!” Arshan saw the shah's banner with its gold-embroidered eagle snap in the morning wind. Nauzer Shah raised his lance and the army charged.
Arshan let Atesh run flat out. The war-horse burned over the ground as easily as on a polo pitch. Arshan leveled his lance straining to spit a Turani rider. But the Turanis were dashing away, scattering like birds. Arshan laughed, for Nauzer Shah's words had come true.
The sun was turning Arshan's armor into an oven. Atesh was still breathing easily as Arshan slowed him to a trot. Then the first arrows came whipping in. Arshan saw the Turanis twisting in the saddle to shoot at their pursuers. A rider fell near Arshan, rolling and flailing with an arrow in his throat. An arrow whizzed past Arshan's ear, barely missing him.
Arshan reined in Atesh. The charge had become a trot and then a walk. A cloud of dust rolled over the field, sweeping over the men who had kicked it up. Arshan blinked his eyes to sweep away the dirt that blinded him. Then he heard the howling.
All around was the sound of wolves, yipping and howling from a thousand blood-mad throats. Arshan's blood ran cold as he realized it was not wolves, but the Turani warriors. Below the howling, Arshan also heard the drumming of hooves.
From out of the dust a thousand arrows flew. Men dropped on every side, more as a result of sheer volume, for the dust hid every target. Some threw away their lances and shot back, blindly. Arshan kept his lance ready, and thanked Ahura Mazda for it, for a moment later hundreds of Turanis charged out of the dust, furiously slashing into the Saka ranks.
Arshan dug his heels into Atesh and the war-horse spurted forward. Arshan saw a mounted warrior rush him and flicked the lance into the man's chest. He watched in horror as blood spurted and the man writhed on the bowing lance, until the lance snapped and the Turani was flung from the saddle with a howl of agony. Arshan tasted bile in his throat as he realized he had just killed a man for the first time. Then an arrow skipped off his helmet and he made ready to kill again.
Arrows were falling like rain and javelins like hail. There were bodies and blood everywhere. The dust from the swirling battle blotted out the sun. Arshan heard Nauzer Shah shouting commands. He saw the shah stand up in the saddle, then a half dozen arrows struck him down. Arshan tried to reach the fallen shah, but the crowd of men and horses was too thick. As men took up the cry, “The shah is fallen!” all order was lost and the army became a swirling chaos.
Arshan found himself buffeted in every direction. Atesh was strong and seemingly fearless, but the mass of frightened men was too thick. On the edges of the crowd, the Turanis darted in with murderous lances and deadly bow-shots at close range. Arshan saw the crowd was pushing in a definite direction, towards a gap in the Turani line.
As Arshan neared the gap, he realized it was another trap. As the Sakas broke through, the Turanis were shooting them down, their victims too intent on flight to fight back. Arshan halted Atesh and drew his bow.
As he nocked an arrow, Arshan felt rough hands drag him from the saddle. “This is mine now boy,” a warrior said. “Get out on your own!” Before the warrior could mount Atesh, the war-horse shied away. “You damned thief!” Arshan cried. The warrior drew his sword and threatened Arshan, all the while edging close to Atesh, afraid to lose his escape. Suddenly the man stiffened and groaned an arrow in his back. Arshan shoved the dying man aside, eagerly grabbing Atesh's bridle before some other fugitive took the stallion.
Arshan bent low over Atesh's neck and dug in his heels. Atesh shot forward, barreling through the milling, terrified fugitives. Arshan plied his bow, even as Turani arrows zipped at him. Then he was in the open and Atesh ran like wild fire.
For days Arshan wandered in the hills south of Dehstan. He traveled at night to avoid Turani riders. He avoided villages for the Turani wolves were always there first. There were no herdsmen to be found, for they had taken flight with their flocks. Hunger and thirst plagued both the boy and his horse. A mouthful of muddy water from a sink in the rock was like wine. Atesh survived on thorny scrub that would repeal a camel, and to Arshan a half-rotten strip of horsemeat was a feast.
At last Arshan neared the shah's stronghold, no longer Nauzer Shah's, but that of his successor. Arshan wept for joy when he spied its mud-brick walls from afar. Then he saw the smoke rising from the castle's ruins and the black-coated Turani riders milling in the shade of the walls. Wearily Arshan retreated to a rock-cleft in the hills, scarcely big enough for himself and Atesh. There, weary from hunger and travel, he sat on a rock and fainted dead away.
Arshan awoke in the dark. Something was pushing on him. In a panic Arshan reached up and felt Atesh's muzzle. Arshan was cold and dizzy with hunger. Just as Arshan was about to speak, he heard voices. Quietly he got to his feet and crept over the rock towards the speakers.
A light blazed in the dark. There were two men by it. One was a typical Turani rider, a powerfully-built, stocky man clad in sheepskins, bow-case hanging from his belt. The other was a tall and whip-cord strong under his bronze armor. Gold plaques decorated his war-harness.
“I smell a horse nearby, my khan,” the rider said. He spoke in Turani, Arshan had learned the language.
“There are plenty running free from the Saka herds. You can look for it later,” the noble replied.
“Now set up the sword there.” He handed the rider a bronze sword. It was old much stained with verdigris. Arshan wondered what these men could be doing with a useless old sword at night in the naked hills. AS he watched the men stood the sword, hilt up, in a small pile of stones. The noble examined it, evidently satisfied. “Go get the other,” he said to the rider.
The rider strode out of the firelight and returned a moment later, a bound captive in his grasp. Arshan saw it was the Captain of the Guard. Before Arshan could formulate a plan to help the captive, the noble drew his dagger and slit the captive's throat. Deftly he caught the man's blood in a bronze bowl, and deliberately poured it over the sword, until the ancient blade was a dull, wet red. As the noble did so, he murmured a strange incantation. Arshan did not recognize the words as Irani or Turani or any other language. They seemed to be unsuited for the human tongue, filled with odd clicks and buzzing noises.
Then a voice echoed in the darkness. “Oh my slave, you have done well,” it said. Arshan thought the voice might have come from the rocks, or the air, or even the blood-drenched sword. It had the sound of a voice echoing in a tomb.
“I abase myself before thee, oh Erlik Kahn,” the noble said.
“You may yet reap the full bounty of Sakastan,” the voice replied. “But first you must cut off and slay the seed of Zal. Destroy Zal and his son Rustam. When the race of Zal is effaced from the earth, then you shall have possession of the empire of earth, Afrasiyab.”
Arshan's blood ran cold. Here was the very khan of Turan, holding converse with a div, a foul fiend of the brood of Ahriman, the shah of Hell itself. The Sakas did not just face men as enemies, but devils.
Then the voice laughed. “I fear that day may yet be far, unless you keep stricter watch. There is one who listens even as I prophesy. Slay him!” Afrasiyab started and the rider leapt to his feet and nocked an arrow. Arshan scuttled away over the rock, his heart hammering even as arrows flew overhead in the night. In moments Arshan leapt on Atesh's back and the boy and his horse fled through the rocks and hills, never stopping for fear of what he might see in pursuit.
Zal's home was a stoutly built dwelling of stones and mud-bricks tucked in the mountains of Zabulistan. The master and his grooms were selecting colts for training in the main corral. Rustam was riding in with strays rounded up in the Zabuli fells.
A groom shouted and pointed. A ragged skeleton on a limping horse was staggering down the mountainside. Sunken eyes glared from a hollow face covered with a thin, dirty beard. Rustam galloped to the rider, arriving just in time to catch him as he fell from the saddle. It was Arshan.
They carried him to the house and fed him mutton broth and Zabuli wine. Arshan would barely eat, so determined he was to croak out his tale of defeat and dire warnings.
Zal sent out riders in all directions to rally the highland warriors. As they arrived on foot and on horse, Arshan recovered his strength and Atesh was fattened on barley and oats. Zal summoned a mubid and the prepared the sacred drink made from the Haoma plant, which eases all hurts and restores strength. After the ceremony Arshan asked of Zal, “Sakastan is laid low. What do we do now?” Arshan asked.
Zal shook his head. “Sakastan faces dark days, but I know it will survive so long as men were true to their honor and duty. That's the code of the pahlavans.”
Rustam was nearby, listening. “I want to go with the warriors to fight the Turan hordes.”
“You are young yet my son,” Zal said. Arshan saw Rustam's mother was watching from the door to the women's quarters.
“Our land lies under the heel of div-worshiping Turan,” Rustam said. “We need every fighting man. Besides, I am the same age as Arshan.”
More was said, but eventually Zal agreed. Arshan saw Rustam was stubborn, as willing to challenge his father as a mad elephant. “I ask only two boons, my father,” Rustam said. “One is for my grandfather's iron-bound mace and the other is to let me chose my own horse.” Zal agreed. Rustam took up the mace and went to the corral. He pointed to a colt covered with rose-colored spots on its saffron-tinted coat and the strength of a lion. Nearby its dam hovered, a large and fierce mare. “I'll take that one.”
“Don't lad,” a herdsman said. “That mare will kick you clear across the corral if you go near its colt. They say only the colt's true master may ride it.”
“Who is that?” Rustam asked.
“Only a scion of the house of Zal may ride that one,” the herdsman said.
“Then step aside, for Zal is my father. I am Rustam!” With that he leapt into the corral. The mare made for Rustam, but he slapped it on the nose and spoke his name. Without breaking stride, Rustam leapt on the colt's back. “I name thee Rakush!” Rustam cried and he galloped away.
Every day was an agony of waiting while Sakastan lay under the heel of Turan. Finally the clans of Zabulistan were assembled, and the pahlavans rode, Arshan and Rustam among the wild warriors of the hills. Zal brought his army across the mountains down to the arid plains of Sakastan. But Afrasiyab was ready. Skirmish after skirmish followed. As often as not, the Turanis had the best of these encounters. Afrasiyab and Zal circled each other like wary dogs.
Grumbling began to grow in the camp. At a stormy meeting Zal told the chiefs that the Turanis outnumbered their forces. They had to wait until the time was right. But the discontent of the fractious hill-chiefs did not subside.
The next day, Zal moved his force into the foothills along the borders of Sakastan. Afrasiyab hung on his flanks closely, harassing him with his horsemen. Night found Zal and the Zabuli warriors pressed hard up beside the mountains. On the morrow Zal would either have to fight or flee. Flight meant the army would dissolve and Afrasiyab would be master of all Sakastan.
Bitter recriminations followed among the chiefs that night. Arshan and Rustam stood guard at the entrance to the tent where the leaders met. “Fools we were to think you were the man your father was!” the chiefs thundered.
“I am myself,” Zal replied. Arshan saw Rustam's knuckles growing white as he gripped his spear.
“As vain as Nauzer Shah was, he at least went down fighting!” one chief thundered.
The wind whipped at the felt tent. Zal laughed mirthlessly. “You shall have a shah. On the morrow you shall have a shah, I swear it by Mitra and Varuna!”
The chiefs departed, willing to accept Zal's word, for Zal was a pahlavan, and a pahlavan was a man of his word. When they had departed Zal called in Rustam and Arshan. “Just this night a scout slipped past Afrasiyab's lines with important news. Kai Kavus is still in the field. When he saw he could not hope to hold the castle walls against the Turani horde, he slipped away with his forces. He is camped not too far from us. If a rider went to him now with word of our need, Kai Kavus could be here tomorrow. We can hold Afrasiyab for that long, no more.”
Rustam scowled. “My father, Kai Kavus is the foe of our house. He poisoned Nauzer Shah's mind against Zal. If Kai Kavus is to be shah, then we are exiles! Better that…”
“Silence boy!” Zal snapped. “Afrasiyab is a servant of Ahriman, the very shah of all divs. This is no fight for land or stolen cattle of greasy silver from caravan masters. This is a war between the gods and the divs. If we fail, then we lose not just our lives but our souls.”
Rustam bowed his head. Before anyone could speak, Arshan said, “I'll go to Kai Kavus.”
Zal stroked his chin. “I have gifts for you.” A servant brought a wooden shield decorated with a bronze plaque in the shape of a griffin and a corselet of bronze scales. “They are just like those made for Rustam. Bear them in honor.” Zal gave Arshan instructions on the route and saw him into the saddle. As Arshan made ready to ride, Zal studied him. “In that armor you look almost like Rustam. Atesh is almost colored like Rakush too. Now, beware of Afrasiyab scouts, and may Ahura Mazda give you strength.”
Arshan galloped out of camp, trusting Atesh's sure feet on the dark and uneven trail. He had not gotten far out of camp when there was a shout for him to halt.
“Hey boy, stop!” Arshan turned and saw a noble and five retainers. He recognized the noble as one of the sycophants from Nauzer Shah's court, who had fallen into disgrace after the Nobles' Revolt.
“Boy it is not safe to ride alone,” the noble cried. Arshan kept riding. “Hey, stop! I demand to know your business! Stop or I shoot!” Arshan kept pushing Atesh hard and the noble's men were falling behind. “Kill the Turani spy!” the noble shouted. An arrow hissed past Arshan's head. He was riding insanely fast on a mountain trail in the dark, but Arshan dared not slacken Atesh's pace. Arrows were flying at him, but none came close. Arshan drew his bow and twisted in the saddle.
He let fly arrow after arrow, aiming by guess. There was a howl of pain and outrage and Arshan new that the gods had favored him. Soon he found himself galloping alone, except for the wind, the stars, and Atesh's pounding hooves.
Arshan was thundering along the path when two riders sprang from a side trail. “It's him!” one cried in Turani. One rider leveled his lance and charged Arshan. Arshan swung up the bronze-faced shield Zal had given him and drew his sword. The lance struck fast in the shield and Arshan broke the shaft with his sword. A second later Atesh barreled aside the Turani pony just as Arshan cut the man from the saddle. The other yelped in fear and began shooting arrows. But Arshan did not stop nor even slow his pace, even when an arrow pierced his armor and dug into his back. Then another struck Atesh.
Arshan pushed on. His boot filled with blood. Atesh was still pushing, but snorting in pain. Arshan felt a numbing cold as he weighed his actions. He would run Atesh to death if would get him to Kai Kavus on time. But if he ran Atesh too hard, the horse would die and Arshan would be stranded. Arshan reined Atesh to a halt and wept, for he did not know if he was serving his faithful comrade Atesh or the code of the pahlavan.
Arshan halted, just below a cave in a cliff face. Arshan was able to loosen his armor and draw out the arrow in his side. The bronze scales had kept it from penetrating too deeply. Likewise the arrow that had hit Atesh had been deflected by the thick leather of the saddle. Arshan made a poultice for Atesh and then began to prepare one for himself. The wind was icy cold and he was growing stiff. In a moment he would be back in the saddle and riding for Kai Kavus.
“Fool!” a voice hissed from the cave. “You have delivered yourself into my hands!”
Arshan looked up and reeled at what the moonlight revealed. In the mouth of the cave was a thing that looked like a man dressed in tatters and rags. Its eyes bulged as did its cheeks and swolen belly. Its skin was mottled black and gray. White lips pulled back to reveal dirty fangs and bony fingers ended in long, sharp nails. This was the fiend that haunted dreams, that lived in the night terrors of children, the thing the mubids prayed to the gods for protection from, this was a div, malevolence in fleshly form.
“Erlik Khan seeks you,” the div tittered. “I shall fetch you to him and he will make sport of you!”
Arshan whipped out his sword. “I'll send you to hell first!”
The div hurled itself on Arshan and the battle was on. It raked its claws across Arshan's shield, ripping off slivers of wood. Arshan's blade hacked into the div, but the fiend felt no pain. It bit through Arshan's bronze scale and dented his helmet. Atesh screamed in rage and terror, stamping his hooves but coming no closer to the struggling figures.
The div wrapped both arms about Arshan and pulled him to the ground. Arshan groped for his dagger for his sword was useless at such close quarters. The div's hand flashed to Arshan's throat and began choking him. Arshan struggled to break the grip. They were eye to eye, the div's fetid breath in Arshan's nostrils, its snapping fangs coming closer. Arshan jammed the thumb of his free hand into the div's eye and clung there, trying to force back the fiend's head.
Arshan's head swam and his vision blurred as the div throttled him. With his last breath he muttered, “Ahura Mazda, give strength to Arshan!”
“Arshan?” the div hissed. “I thought you were Rustam!”
The div's grip weakened for a second and Arshan snatched at his dagger. He plunged it into the div again and again. The div screamed in rage and released a blast of poison breath. Arshan staggered to his feet and fell down again.
Dark forms circled Arshan. They chanted his name, pointing accusing fingers. “I tried, “Arshan whispered. “I died fighting.”
“Too late dog!” There was Erlik Khan, on his throne of skulls. “You will die and all of your race!”
“Never!” Arshan screamed. But there was only mocking laughter from Erlik Khan and the hordes of divs.
Arshan awoke just outside the cave. Dawn was breaking and Atesh was standing nearby. Arshan looked at the rising sun and knew he had failed. He mounted Atresh and began to ride, but he realized that he had lost the trail in the dark. Even if the Turani horde had not yet destroyed Zal, he was not sure where to find Kai Kavus.
Arshan rounded a spur of rock and saw Zal's forces in the valley below. The Turanis were engaging him, and arrows were flying. Arshan realized he had gone in a circle. He sighed, if he could not bring help to Zal, at least he could die fighting. It was the code of the pahlavan.
As Arshan made his way toward the battle, he heard shouts and battle cries. Arshan paused, watching from his vantage point. From the west riders were pouring off the hills towards Afrasiyab's lines. They wasted no time skirmishing with arrows, Instead they couched their lances and drove into the Turanis. Arshan saw the shah's battle-standard with the gold-embroidered eagle. Nearby he recognized Rustam.
Arshan pelted down the slopes, risking his neck and Atesh's legs. He gained the level and hacked into the Turanis. But the Turani warriors were already beginning to flee. Their morale was broken the moment they faced enemies in front and back.
Arshan made his way to the shah's banner. There was Kai Kavus, his father Kai Kobad, Zal, Rustam and all the chiefs. “Here is your shah, men of Sakastan!” Zal cried out. Kai Kavus puffed himself up. “Shah Kai Kobad! May his reign be filled with glory?” Thousand so warriors took up the cry. Arshan saw Kai Kavus settle back in the saddle as he realized his father was now the new shah.
Arshan pushed Atesh up by Rustam and Rakush. “How is it you reached Kai Kavus? I was lost and beset. Did you know that?”
Rustam shook his head. “I knew nothing. I only left a little later than you after a certain noble followed you out of camp. Zal will give that one to Kai Kobad to judge. Father had the plan worked out before the meeting and I just did my part.”
“You mean Zal cast me out as bait for Afrasiyab vultures!” Arshan felt his temper rise.
“They took it too,” Rustam said. “Be of good cheer, today we are pahlavan's of Sakastan. What more can you ask for than a good horse and a good battle?”
Arshan shook his head. He could think of a few things, but for now a fine horse and a pahlavan's honor would do.
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