Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

642 AD, 21 AH

"My lord will probably flee east," Sirvan said, the holy flames casting shadows on his horse-like face. "I'm inclined to join him, if truth be told."

"Do not say such things!" Piruz snapped at him.

But Ario only grunted. "I'm the one that's going east. I'll flock to the service of one noble family or another. Perhaps Merv."

Sirvan chuckled dryly. "And with who's money? The royal family taxed us dry with all their incompetence. It was one battle against the Romans after the other, draining us of our hard-earned coin. Our loved ones. Even bits of us."

Ario was Piruz's uncle. He was a war veteran who served the King of Kings during the wars against the Romans. And he had lost an arm for all his troubles. They were in the esteemed Fire Temple of the city of Nahavand. They were all wearing their ritual long white cotton tunics wrapped about the waist with a piece of cord. Face veils prevented their breath and saliva to contaminate the holy flames.

"But it was worth it," Piruz chimed in. "For the realm of Iran."

They sat about the fire crackling in the brazier, in preparation for prayer.

It was nighttime so their only roof then was the stark black canvas of the sky, for the Fire Temple was bereft of a roof to perform prayer in the direction of the sun. But it was absent now. As such, they would pray about the holy flames, their sole source of fire.

Ario spat. "And was the civil war for the good of Iran as well? How many monarchs have we had in that space of four years? A dozen? Maybe more? Most of them fucking killed, for Ahura Mazda's sake."

"It was a period of turmoil," Piruz agreed. "But it is past us. We should answer the call to fighting. It is our duty."

"Fuck your duty," Sirvan said, rising to his feet. He tore his face veil off and tossing it across the room. The flames' reflection danced in his fittingly furious eyes. "And fuck your Iran. Fuck your Shah and fuck the noble families that have seen me and mine labor day and night yet remain impoverished. All for their greed for power and their gluttony. Let the Arabs have it."

"How could you say such a thing?" Piruz exclaimed. "Those savages are agents of Angra Mainyu – they are the embodiment of evil! The dark that is beset on consuming the light. They are bound to fail!"

"Are they?" Sirvan demanded. "Because they've already taken Asorestan. Next, they'll be at our doorsteps. Do you really think your feeble Shah and his squabbling nobles are fit to stop those fiends? I'm half inclined to believe that the families want the Arabs to win this battle. Just to see the royal family fall off its fucking perch. In any case, I won't be dying for those that robbed me of my life and my coin."

"I won't pray," Ario said, finding his own feet and walking away.

Sirvan grunted. "This place makes me sick. Fuck this place as well. And fuck Ahura Mazda. Isn't a god supposed to take care of his people?"

After the man took his leave, Piruz shook his head and shifted his focus on the holy flames. He donned his prayer cap and resolved to answer the call of the Shah to fill the ranks of the army against the evil Arabs. It was his duty to serve the light against the darkness, good against evil. Like the Prophet Zarathustra told them long ago. Zarathustra who showed them the light of Ahura Mazda, and salvation.

Piruz basked in the lapping and roaring of the flames and thought of the upcoming battle. He had barely survived the one prior at al-Qadisiya. He did not want to leave his daughter behind, bereft of father and mother.