Arslan Senki - Book 5: Chapter 1 (3)

The Parsian army quickly began to turn back.

The Lusitanian army had not moved. They’d been trying to make their move, but still could not. His Highness Guiscard, the king’s brother, who had always been at the center of command, giving out judgments and orders, and carrying many responsibilities, had been taken prisoner by King Andragoras III of Pars, who had escaped from the dungeon. Attempting to rescue him could make an even bigger mess of things. The Lusitanian army dared not take any risks, because they thought that the Parsian army’s sudden change of course must have some hidden agenda. They could only grit their teeth, hold their breath, and watch as the Parsian army turned around again.

Even a wise man like Narsus was not omniscient, and could not fully predict what was going on in the royal capital of Ecbatana. In his mind, he came up with dozens of possible scenarios, including the scenario of “King Andragoras escaping on his own”. However, he did not know that this particular scenario had now become the reality. After all, human intelligence has its limits.

In any case, the fact that the Lusitanian army refrained from taking action was a good thing for the Parsians. The army began to turn back its formation under Narsus’s command and move east. Daryun and Kishward’s command was so efficient that there was no confusion among the army in the dead of night.

By this time, the 500 horsemen led by Farangis had already been moving east under the moonlight for some time. Farangis’s beauty and bravery were not a secret in Arslan’s army, so these cavalrymen did not have any shame following a woman’s command. On the contrary, they acted as if they were commanded by a goddess, and were extraordinarily energetic.

After running two farsang (about ten kilometers), the group came across a man. This man had been walking on foot down the road, waving his hand leisurely. Farangis turned her horse and faced the lion-like man in front of her.

“What are you? If you’re an evil spirit, I don’t see any horns.”

“I am the man who lent his horse to the messenger from the fortress of Peshawar.”

“Oh, so you are our benefactor? Then, of course, we shall repay the loan.”

Farangis signaled, and a knight brought over a horse, already saddled. At the same time, a heavy leather pouch was handed to Kubard, filled with gold as a reward.

“We should give you more in return, but we must first hurry to Peshawar. I hope you can accept just the gold for now! This is from His Highness the Crown Prince.”

“Oh, how fortunate!”

Kubard said. What he exclaimed was not of Arslan’s thoughtfulness, but Farangis’s beauty. In both the Parsian and Sindhuran languages, there was such a phrase as “beautiful as silver moonlight”. Unlike Gieve, Kubard never considered himself a poet, so he did not express his feelings in an artistic way. What he said instead, was something else.

“I’ll go to the fortress of Peshawar too! Perhaps I can be of some help.”

“Do you have confidence in your fighting ability?”

“Some.”

These were words of extreme humility coming from this man. However, he promptly revealed his true nature.

“I consider myself to be the second strongest knight in Pars.”

This phrase was borrowed from the young man Merlane whom he had met not long ago. This seemed to have little effect on Farangis. She looked at Kubard’s imposing figure with an unfriendly gaze, said “do whatever you like”, and started to move her horse again. Kubard smiled lightly and followed.

The Turanian army was very likely brave and strong enough to rival the Parsian army, however, they were not so good in siege battles. It would not be easy for them to break through the Parsian army, led by the Satryup Lucian, who was holding down the fortress of Peshawar.

The fortress, made of red sandstone, was tall and strong, preventing the Turanian army’s attacks. In addition, they had no weapons built for besieging a fortress, the gates were barricaded, and arrows raining down from the walls made the Turanian army helpless. Relying on direct attacks would only cause more of their own losses. Although only two or three days had passed, the battle was already at a stalemate.

Tarkhan, Dizaboulos, Ilterish, Boila, Basmyl, Karluk and other powerful Turanian military generals gathered to hold a meeting on the southern bluff, where they could still see the fortress of Peshawar. The Turanians, more so than the Parsians, were horse-riding people, and even their meetings were held on horseback. Looking out over the red fortress, they expressed a variety of opinions.

Tarkhan spoke first. He was a large man with a red and black beard covering the lower part of his face, and a muscular chest and arms. He was thirty-five years old. When it came to fierce Turanian generals, he was always mentioned first. His voice was so deep and powerful that it would make one’s belly twist from the vibration.

“The fortress of Peshawar is well defended. However, the Parsians will not come out of the fortress to fight, and will simply hide and wait for their companions to come to their aid. Luring them out of the fortress is a must, but before we can even think about a countermeasure, we must first give up the intention of attacking the fortress.”

Then it was Ilterish who spoke.

“It’s fine if the Parsians don’t leave the fortress, as we don’t have to worry about them attacking Sindhura. Why don’t we turn around and take Sindhura first?”

The young Ilterish was a member of the House of the King of Turan, and was known as a “Prince”. He was of medium stature, with white knife scars clearly visible on his sun-bleached forehead and left cheek, and a sharp and courageous look in his eyes. His father was the brother of the king of Turan, who had been killed fighting with a Parsian named Daryun. His heart not only burned with the fire of revenge, but also harbored ambition. He wanted to defeat Sindhura before destroying the Parsians to enhance his own reputation of courage.

“The Prince is too impatient.”

The one whose bitter smile stopped Ilterish’s bloodlust was Karluk. He had served as an envoy to the Kingdom of Silk, as well as Pars, and was an important person with a wide range of knowledge; and of course, he was very proud of this. The young and exuberant Prince Ilterish did not conceal his antipathy towards him at all.

“Humph! What are we to do then? Stand here and gaze at the red fortress from afar, crying, ‘I can’t take it! I can’t take it!’ Is that all?”

“If that’s what the Prince wants to do, be my guest!”

“What did you say?!”

Believing that the other man was deliberately provoking him, Ilterish’s gaze took on a dangerous glint. Karluk was unmoved.

“I was just thinking about the true goals of the King in the royal capital, Samangan. The first thing is to show the Parsians what we are capable of. Sindhura can wait.”

Once they heard the names of Samangan and the king, the generals could not help but slightly reign in their expressions.

The capital of the Turanian Kingdom was called Samangan. Although it was the capital, it was very different from the capital of Pars, Ecbatana, as it did not have towering walls and prosperous city streets. Turan was a nomadic nation, and in times of peace, they collected taxes from caravans passing through their vast territory, and relied on the proceeds from silver and rock salt trading for their finances. The Turanians had no concept of settlements, but a reliable base was still indispensable. Samangan was their base, and they built their royal palace among the green valleys, surrounded by 20,000 tents, large and small.

The Turanian palace itself was also a large tent. According to records of traveling merchants who have seen the palace, the general description is as follows.

“…It was a huge quadrangle, about a hundred paces on each side, three times as high as the lances used by the cavalry. The pillars supporting the large tent were twelve in number, each as thick as a human body. There was a partially covered patio with a circular roof. The walls of the tent were formed by six overlapping pieces of thick cloth, with air circulating between them to prevent the heat of summer and the chill of winter. The innermost cloth was silk, which the king of Turan had purchased from the Land of Silk at the price of 10,000 heads of sheep. The silk cloth had seven colors and was embroidered with depictions of beautiful women, sacred animals, and flowers. The floor was covered with carpet, and many rattan chairs covered in fur…”

This nomadic nation had seen a great change in its prestige due to the leadership of their king. In January of this year, after a bloody struggle for power, King Tokhtamysh had taken the throne and swore to “enrich the country with the treasures of the south”. In addition to the hatred for Pars that still ran deep in their hearts from the murder of the previous King’s brother when they were defeated four years previous, they’d received reports that Pars was now in chaos after being invaded by a foreign country from the West. Turan felt that there was no longer any reason for them to hesitate, and decided to invade Pars. And so, the Turanians had begun to move south. Of course, these things had all been considered by Narsus. For Turanians, plundering was an important part of their lives, so “what’s wrong with plundering people who have ample access to wealth”? Of course, the party being plundered could not agree with such an argument.

While the Turanian army hesitated, deciding what to do in front of the walls of Peshawar, a commotion broke out in the Turanian camp late at night on June 4th. It turned out that a group of Parsians was trying to infiltrate the fortress of Peshawar in the dark. This was the advance party led by Farangis.

“A group of unsuspecting Parsians! Do they think they can infiltrate under the cover of night with such a small number of men? Let’s show them that they miscalculated!”

Generally speaking, the Turanians had better nighttime eyesight than Parsians. In the past, the Parsians had suffered against the Turanian army in several nighttime battles. Although Farangis knew this, in this situation, there was no other way but to break through in the dark. The first task was to create a small diversion, and Kubard took on the dangerous role of bait. In any situation, Farangis was always reluctant to delegate more dangerous tasks to others, but she felt that if this “danger” encountered someone like this one-eyed man, they would immediately flee.

Kubard then acted as a decoy. He instructed his assigned men to hide flares in the Turanian army’s camp, and then he himself swung his great sword left and right and sped forward. Seeing Kubard’s brave posture, a Turanian knight leapt onto his horse and went to meet him.

“I am Ilterish, a member of the royal family of Turan, bearing the title of Prince. If you want to get to Peshawar fortress, you have to pass through me first!”

From Ilterish’s standpoint, he had made a very exaggerated statement in the Parsian language, however, the other party turned a deaf ear to it as if he’d heard nothing, and began to advance with his horse.

“Do you intend to leave without even hearing the name of a military general? You’re all barbarians who don’t know how to behave!”

Ilterish shouted as he approached and swung his sword hard. The opponent raised his sword to block his attack.

The sound of blades clashing rang out and sparks flew, turning a small piece of the night into daylight, and Ilterish saw that his opponent’s left eye was blinded. Soon, they were immediately swallowed up by darkness again. The opponent had no intention of fighting. He deflected Ilterish’s chop and turned his horse’s head towards Peshawar. He then threw a comment to his opponent over his shoulder.

“I’ll let you go today, so hurry up and go back to drinking your mother’s milk!”

“Damn it! Such nonsense…”

Ilterish looked enraged. He drove his horse forward, swung his sword,and the sound of the blades and sparks repeatedly flew from the darkness. The sparks shone against armor, in a moment of dazzling brilliance.

Ilterish was very strong, so even Kubard couldn’t handle his attacks with just one hand. He changed from defense to attack, and took a real fighting stance. Another strong blow came at Ilterish, and a numbing pressure was felt through the blade that took the blow.

The two sides went back and forth, hacking at each other for five or six rounds, but it was difficult to sustain a solo fight with enemy and allies mixed together. From time to time, other men and horses got between the two, and Kubard and Ilterish were separated. The whirlwind of melee kept expanding, swallowing the two of them.

Farangis watched the chaos with cold eyes, and rode into the Turanian army’s formation. Her aim was not to cut down Turanian soldiers, but to rush towards the gates of Peshawar. Farangis had to take advantage of Kubard’s brave fighting to distract the attention of the Turanian army and try her best to approach the gates. However, her movements were still discovered.

“Parsians…”

Just at the moment when some Turanian soldiers began to shout wildly and swung their swords towards Farangis, a short scream was heard, and a man on a horse rolled down to the ground. It turned out that Farangis shot an arrow from extremely close range. Letting out a cry, the blade wielding Turanian soldiers continued attacking the despised Parsian left and right. The sound of bow strings rang out one after another, and the sound of men wailing and horses falling echoed one after another. Even the Turanians’ excellent night vision could not see her unpredictable movements.

“Ho-ho-ho! The best archer in Pars might just be that woman! If Merlane saw her, I’m sure he would want to compete with her!”

Kubard, who was still wielding his sword in the midst of the chaos, also had time to observe Farangis’ divine skills. The unswayed enemy Ilterish shouted through the melee, still looking for Kubard, which Kubard pointedly ignored. The enemy was now outnumbered, and he had an important job to do. Now was not the time to compare sword skills.

Farangis and a few dozen of her men made it to the fortress gate. As she lined up her troops, she called to the wall, “Open the gates! Open the doors! I am an emissary of the Crown Prince, Farangis!”

This musical voice still remained in the memories of the soldiers and generals of Peshawar. Lucian, who was in charge of the defense of the fortress wall, hurriedly gave the signal. Several sandbags were removed and the gate opened enough for Farangis to ride in. Just as she galloped through the gate, she turned her horse and struck with her sword. The Turanian soldier who was hot on her heels took a blow to the neck and fell to the ground. Kubard then ran in as well. As a result, less than a hundred Parsian soldiers entered the fortress, while the rest fled in the darkness according to their plans. They went back towards the east to join Arslan’s army.

“Three days, just hold for three more days, and then the reinforcements will arrive. His Highness the Crown Prince is not the kind of person who leaves his companions behind.”

When Farangis finished speaking, a cheer rang out from the city.

“Not only Lady Farangis, but even Lord Kubard, the Marzban, has also come. There’s nothing to fear from the tactless Turanian army!”

After Lucian made such a declaration, the cheers rose again. Farangis looked to the people around her, only to see the one-eyed lion, who was now covered with blood stains, leisurely responding to the cheers of the soldiers and gently raising his stout right arm.

“You were a Marzban?”

“More or less.”

“So that’s how it is. It seems there are all kinds of people, even among the Marzban.”

This sentence could not be considered a compliment, but only Farangis’s true feelings.