Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

16 November 636 AD, 12 Shawwal 15 AH

Piruz baked beneath the sun, gripping his spear and blinking sweat trickling down from his forehead, the heat simmering within his helm and beneath his knee-high tunic and mail shirt.

Under the shade of a great cliff with a splendid palace crowning its perch, the Arabs were arrayed in similar formation. It was only a strip of lush greenery that separated these hungry savages from destruction at the hands of Iran's good people, the loyal servants of the great Shah. The King of Kings.

Piruz imagined the waving grass blades that separated the armies dripping red with the blood of villainous conqueror. He imagined the palace at the summit of the cliff stormed and restored to rightful owners. After the palace, all the lands in Asorestan, the land these pitiful raiders knew as 'Iraq, would follow suit. The ancestral homes of the noble Iranian people restored by imperial hand.

Though Piruz was a modest soldier in comparison, a blacksmith and carpenter back home in truth, as were most of the foot troops, the ranks of the great army were bristling with powerful men of Iran that would harry the Arabs back to their deserts.

Piruz was situated to the center left unit of the four infantry contingents at the head of the army. Other infantrymen were clad in similar uniform of light armor, spear or pike. There was the odd longsword.

To either flank were the pride and role model of every true Iranian – the cataphracts. Those noble knights gleaming atop their armored and spectacular steeds were the finest of them all.

They were warriors to the bone, the sons of noblemen trained from a very young age to cut down foe atop saddle in shock charges, lance and shield in hand, clad in lumbering heavy armor from head to toe. They were as iron statues in their seats, resplendent and glorious. Curtains of chainmail were attached to their skulls beneath silver helmets, tumbling down past their knees over tunics and trousers. Over their mail, they wore gleaming iron plate armor. These jingling iron plates were lacquered and interlocking, a formidable suit against the blade and arrow of foe.

To the rear of the great army that was nearly fifty thousand Iranians strong, stood elite units of archers that would surely strike down substantial numbers of the incurring Arabs.

And of course, the elephants. The elephants!

What a wondrous sight they were. Piruz had only heard stories of these monstrous creatures levied by the military from the provinces of India. But Piruz had never been on campaign before, never set sights on battle of scale such as this.

The towering beasts of white or grey loomed over them all, their flapping ears casting Piruz in shadow. Eight of the monsters were aligned before Piruz's unit, and an equal amount before the other three teams of infantry. Their trunks swept this way and that, and the riders atop saddles as massive as their backs cradled the finest bows.

They instilled fear into Piruz's heart just by their existence. Truly a magnificent creation of the great Ahura Mazda, Lord of Light. Only the Wise Lord knew what the Arabs felt under the elephants' shadow, now that they had to face them in pitched battle.

Though he was bemused with all these sights of great splendor, Piruz found his mind wandering to thoughts of his daughter.

Piruz yearned to hold his little girl in his arms again; to hear her sweet laughter reverberating against his ears. She had been his whole world ever since her mother passed during birth. It pained him deeply to abandon her, to leave her back at Nahavand, even in trusted hands. But when Shah and the realm of Iran call, a man must answer.

He had been months on campaign. Months deprived of his little girl. The great general Rustam had spent a great deal of time amassing this army, the army to end all armies, and Piruz puffed with pride as his eyes scanned his surroundings. They said the Arabs raped and ravaged and looted and killed villagers mercilessly in Arorestan. They said the heartland of Iran would be next.

That day, Piruz not only fought for realm and Shah; he fought for his child.

The Iranian army had crossed the canal that was now situated at their backs to find themselves in this strip of flatland, ideal ground for their elite cavalry. The Arabs had their own backs to the town of al-Qadisiyah and the vast swaths of sand beyond that they would also see restored to Iranian authority.

They had been camped here in Arorestan, at the town of al-Qadisiyah for days. It baffled Piruz that General Rustam was negotiating with these rapists and murderers, but he could not voice his concerns. He was but a humble citizen of the great realm of Iran. But the Arabs were being reinforced everyday. When first the army of Iran occupied this strip of flatland, facing the Arabs, the latter had seemed a lot less numerous than they were now, even though they remained outnumbered.

Everyday fresh streams of troops came trickling in from the horizon. Everyday their ranks swelled, and their lines stretched...

But no matter. It seemed this day would be the fateful one. The day they restored Arorestan to the realm of Iran.

Perhaps then, when the invader was driven back, Piruz could return to his daughter and live out a blissful life.

But first, they needed to deal with the enemy at arm's length.

The gift of the good mind leads to Ahura Mazda, Piruz began his prayer. Ahura Mazda gives authority to the one who protects the oppressed.

The war horns sounded.

In the name of Ahura Mazda.