Shadow of Ararat

THE SKIES OVER SYRIA MAGNA

hahr-Baraz shouted aloud in joy, though his words were instantly torn away by shrieking wind. He strained against the heavy leather straps that bound him to the back of the byakhee, leaning forward into the wall of wind that howled around him. Ahead of him, also strapped into a web of leather and metal clasps, the Lord Dahak grimaced at the foolishness of men. The sorcerer leaned to the left and blue-black light flickered around his hands, driving the vast creature to wing over and sweep at tremendous speed across the face of the world. Baraz looked down as the creature tilted, its bifurcated wings a blur under the light of the moon. Vast expanses of empty desert rushed past below them, though he could see, to the north, a dim cluster of lights that must be the cities of men. The land far below was marked by long sinuous silver trails, like the backs of thousands of snakes. They passed over a wide expanse of mottled black hills, then a scattering of tiny lights. We land soon, echoed the bone-brittle voice of the sorcerer in his mind. The valley of the Orontes lies just ahead. Baraz peered forward, leaning close over the shoulders of the Lord Dahak. Suddenly they passed over a city-no more than a crowd of moth-lights under the moon and the glint of a lake lay off to the southwest. Baraz scanned the rushing countryside under them, looking for any sign… There! He exulted at the sight-a great camp of men, lit by hundreds of fires. Tents glowed from lanterns and long lines of torches marked the streets of the encampment. Then the creature rushed on and the camp fell away behind them and they passed over another range of hills, dark and brooding in the night. Baraz stared back, over the long snakelike tail and maneuvering wings. What? Shouldn’t we have landed? He turned to look forward again and the creature spread its great wings and slewed into a corkscrew dive. The barren top of a tall hill lay below them. There was a blast of air that scattered leaves and dust in a wide pall, and it landed delicately on long thin feet. The vast creature danced a little to the side, folding mountainous wings back against its rugose, tentacular body. The Lord Dahak relaxed a little in the harness and looked back over his shoulder at his companion. Baraz was already unfastening the buckles that held him into the framework. The big man threw a heavy bag over his shoulder and tossed down two more wicker baskets that had been secured behind him. The sorcerer followed suit, though with less eagerness, his hands shaking a little with exhaustion. The big man slid down the hairy flank of the byakhee and thumped heavily to the ground. Then reached up and dragged down a bundle of weapons that he had been sitting on. Baraz paused.

“Lord Dahak, why are you unbelting yourself?” His voice was puzzled.

The Lord Dahak sighed and rose up to stand on the enormous shoulder of the beast. Under him, it quivered slightly, feeling the lessening of his control. He was weary from the effort of maintaining his mastery over the promethean thing and resigned himself to climbing down to the ground, even as Baraz had done.

“Get back,” he snapped at the Persian. “It will make a great wind when it goes.”

The mammoth wings unfurled and blotted out the stars and the moon. A wind rose, like a gale, and lashed the two men with small stones and twigs from the trees that surrounded the top of the hill. The thing gave a mournful call, like an unguessably vast hound, and vaulted into the air. The hilltop shook with the pressure of its flight, and then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness between the stars. Baraz picked himself up off the ground and spat out a mouthful of sand.

“Lord Dahak, don’t take this amiss, but why are you staying with me?”

Dahak’s face was unreadable in the darkness, but he said, “The King of Kings commands, and I obey. He commands that I assist you in this campaign.”

Baraz stared at the sorcerer. But then he caught the grim expression of the Lord Dahak, and instead he turned his mind to plan and action and thought. A wizard to help me, every advantage to my hand! The Romans will suffer greatly with this turn of events.

Dahak wrapped his robe around him, and drew the hood up over his lean head.

“The camp of the Great Prince Shahin,” he said, “is beyond these hills.” He walked off into the trees to the north. Baraz looked up at the moon and then back to the south, whence they had come. He tugged thoughtfully at the bristly mustaches that gave him his popular sobriquet, and then he trotted off into the trees after the sorcerer.

The Boar, now dressed in a heavy cloak over his armor of plate cuirass and mail of iron scales, strode up to the doors of the massive tent that lay at the center of the Persian camp. Around him acres of tents glowed with the light of lanterns and torches. His head was bare, and he had combed his lush curls out to lie on his shoulders like a carpet. His beard was groomed as wejl, though it had been difficult to do in the dim night beyond the sentries of the camp. With some coaxing, Dahak had conjured a pale-white light so that Baraz could see himself in the lead-glass mirror that he carried. The massive sword that he favored jutted over one shoulder in a sheath of wood wrapped with leather. The Lord Dahak limped behind him, his mood bitter. The sorcerer had turned his ankle as they had negotiated the slope of the hill in the darkness. Luckily, he leaned on a tall staff of rowan wood. Still, those men awake in the camp looked upon the two of them and quickly returned to their duties or tents.

Baraz ignored the two guardsmen in light chain mail and russet robes at the entrance to the tent, striding past them with his head held high. The two men controlled themselves, for they recognized the one-time commander of the army. They did not meet the flickering pale eyes of Dahak as he passed, limping. Within the tent, which was divided up into many chambers, a sudden hush fell upon the main room.

“Lord Shahin.” The general’s voice was blunt, like a heavy axe striking meat.

At the center of the chamber Shahin rose, a stoutly built man with a long face and curly beard. The Great Prince, the cousin of the King of Kings, was richly attired in green robes of linen and silk. He wore a small circlet of gold“ around his head and many rings on his fingers. He carefully put down a crystal goblet filled with wine and bowed in greeting.

“General Shahr-Baraz, welcome to my tent. May I introduce my companions?”

Baraz snorted, sounding very like his namesake. Shahin’s eyes, artfully outlined with kohl, narrowed. The Great Prince was accustomed to being treated politely, even by rivals, and here-surrounded by his supporters and his own army-he was not disposed to be slighted. “There is no time for pleasantries, Great Prince. Summon your commanders and allied princes, there.is much to be done before the night is out.”

The courtiers, who had remained sitting until it was clear who held the social superiority, tittered a little, laughing behind their hands. Baraz spared them a glance and saw, to his disgust, that the tent was filled with gorgeously attired men in perfumed silks and rich clothing. His heavy brows beetled over his eyes; the number of pleasure slaves who languidly ornamented the arms of the nobles present told him a tale of a leisurely advance into enemy lands. The general turned back to Shahin, who was gazing at him with a tilted head, much like a swamp crane viewing a tasty frog.

“Your presence is most welcome, Baraz,” the Great Prince said in a smooth and cultured voice, “but it is late, and I was about to retire. Do you bring some news that must needs be relayed before the sun.rises?”

“Aye,” Baraz said gruffly, “but first a simple question- do you know where the army of the desert tribes is this night?”

Shahin was taken aback by the odd question.

“Sadly, no,” he replied, smoothing the lay of one of his sleeves. “We have made good progress advancing into enemy lands but have yet to see more of the Romans and their rabble than a few tracks upon the road.”

The Great Prince returned to the divan that he had been reclining upon. Two of his slaves, clad only in the barest silk, attended to him. Apparently he had been interrupted in the middle of a manicure. The one on the right, with her lush red hair piled up on her head like a stormcloud, eyed Baraz fearfully but bent over the Great Prince’s outstretched hand with her tiny file.

Baraz growled in anger, then spun on his heel and stalked to the entranceway. He noted, in passing, that Dahak had entered the chamber behind him and was now sitting in the corner, unnoticed by the assembly, save for one slave who had brought him a bowl of crushed ice. Outside the tent the general rapped the sentries sharply on their helmets. They spun, outraged, but stopped when they saw the looming shape of the Boar.

“Quick about it, lads, find me the commanders of the cavalry, the light horse, the infantry and anyone else with a plume and half a wit about them. Double-time!”

The two sentries saluted and trotted off into the darkness. Baraz watched them go and grunted to himself. Well, he thought, between Dahak and I, we might yet win…

When he returned to the tent, the courtiers and the Prince had resumed their conversation as if he had never interrupted. A quartet of musicians had taken up a tune in the corner, and the flute player was trilling a light air that sounded like birds in flight. Baraz reddened and strode across the room to the drum player. The man looked up in time to scuttle aside as the general snatched up his heavy instrument and laid into the surface with a heavy hand.

“All right, everyone out! Out! Out! Out!” Baraz punctuated his bellowing with a mighty thump on the drum. He shoved his way through the courtiers, who had leapt to their feet in fear.

“Out! Everyone out!” The Boar punctuated.his shouts with his boot. Tables overturned and the musicians fled. Baraz threw the drum out the front door of the tent, braining one of the poets who had run out into the camp street.

The man dropped like a pole-axed cow and lay still in the dirt. The Great Prince had leapt to his feet as well and was shouting at Baraz at the top of his voice. The other nobles and slaves scattered. Baraz sent the last drunken man on his way with a boot to the fundament that sent him sprawling into the sand. The general turned and a fist ornamented with heavy rings flashed at his face.

Baraz’s meaty hand snapped up, catching the thrown punch, and his fingers squeezed like tree roots digging at a mosaic floor. The Great Prince gasped in pain and crumpled to his knees. The Boar released the crushed hand and stared down at the Prince in undisguised disgust as Shahin struggled to his feet.

“By the order of Chrosoes, King of Kings, I am assuming command of this army.”

Baraz’s voice held the finality of millstones crushing grain into meal. “If you care to discuss the wisdom of this with the Great King, then I suggest to hie yourself to Cte-siphon and take it up with him.” He leaned close to the Great Prince’s pale face. “But,” Baraz said, “he is in a foul mood of late. I would not advise it.”

“I… I do not believe you!” Shahin stepped back two paces and drew himself up. The Great Prince was a very powerful man in the Empire; his estates were as vast as those of the King of Kings. He could raise armies of his own, and he was closely related to the House of Sassan. “The Great King has entrusted this campaign to me! To me, you ignorant backwoods farmer! What proof do you have of this order from the King? I have received nothing to indicate this!”

Baraz laughed at the red face of the Great Prince. “A messenger brought me this news only tonight, and now I am here. You will command the left wing of the army- this too is the wish of the King of Kings, that you should have a place of honor. But I command here, now, Prince Shahin, and you would do well to heed my commands.” Shahin spat on the thick rugs of the floor. “Where is this messenger? Is he known to you? An Imperial courier? Do you have a written order?“ The Prince’s face turned sly as he thought he spied an advantage over the Boar.

Baraz chuckled again and turned slightly. “Here is the messenger, O Great Prince. Do you dispute him?”

Shahin stepped past Baraz, angry words on his lips, but then he saw Dahak leaning back in a chair with one foot wrapped with cloths. The dark man smiled and the lanterns of cut crystal and glass that illuminated the tent flickered and went out. In the sudden darkness, there was the soft sound of crickets, and a slow dull-red glow flickered into being around the sorcerer. Fire burned in two sharp points where the man’s eyes should be.

“The King of Kings speaks,” Dahak said in a deep basso voice. “Will you deny his will?”

Shahin stepped back, speechless, and ran into the solid bulk of Baraz. “No! No, great lord, I obey!” The Prince fell to his knees and bowed three times, prostrating himself upon the carpeted floor.

Flame leapt back up in the lanterns and the tent was filled once more with a warm light. Ominous silence was replaced by the sound of men shouting in alarm and the slap of running feet on sand and gravel. Dahak turned his face away from the two men in the center of the tent and seemed to fade into the rich brocade of the wall.

Seven or eight men, half dressed, with bared swords and spears, rushed into the tent and drew up sharply when they saw that the chamber was empty save for the Great Prince arid the Boar. All had come running at the shouts of assassins! and riot!

“General!” The commanders of the army were surprised to see a man they last knew to be no less than seventy leagues away. The Boar gave them a wide smile, all bright-white teeth. He casually tipped one of the tables back over, though now the candied fruits and jugs of wine were smashed and scattered on the floor.

“Well met, my friends. Where is the commander of the light horse? I see the cataphracti, the spearmen, the engineers represented here… is it Tahvaz who commands the scouts now?“

The captains shook their heads, and sidelong glances at the Great Prince, who was now sitting in his chair once more, a slave daubing at his forehead with a cool cloth, made Baraz turn, his eyes slitted in suspicion.

“Great Prince? Where is the commander of the light horse?” Baraz’s voice was polite.

Shahin looked up, his dark kohl-rimmed eyes glittering with hatred.

“The miserable Tahvaz was sent back to Ctesiphon a month ago. He was reckless and insubordinate. We are well done of him.”

Baraz pursed his lips; something that had bothered him during the hike down the hill was becoming clear. He turned back to the captains, now joined by many of their officers, who were crowding into the tent to see what had caused all of the fuss. “Khadames…you command the cataphracts-are there any light horse in this army?”

The commander of the heavy horse shook his head sadly.

“Then,” the Boar continued, “you’ve no scouts out at all, only pickets of spearmen around the camp. And it has been so since the army left Antioch in the north?”

The captains shrugged and Khadames squared himself and met the gaze of his former commander. “No, Lord Baraz, we have advanced in close order, with only some of my horsemen in light armor as flankers. We have not seen the enemy… they may still be at Damascus…” His voice trailed off as Baraz folded his hands behind him and gave him a steely glare. The other captains shuffled their feet and cast their heads down.

“The enemy,” Baraz said in a conversational tone, “is bare miles away, beyond these hills to the south. Given that he commands a host of bandits, you can be sure that he knows your every move, the number of your men, and the temperature of trie gruel you ate for breakfast. I have seen his camp and his numbers are as great as ours or better.“

A bitter laugh from behind him interrupted the general. Shahin rose, his robes once more neatly arranged and his makeup restored to some semblance of order.

“His numbers do not matter, General. Our heavy knights will smash whatever formations he places in the field against us. He does not have the weight of metal that we do, he cannot possibly stand up to us in an open battle!”

Baraz barely spared a glance for the Great Prince. “You have not seen him or brought him to battle, my friends, because the tribes are laying a trap for you, one that they hope you will blunder into headlong, unthinking. When this enemy chooses to fight, then he will fight. Until then he will content himself with buggering your sheep and stealing your women. What happened to the Lakhmid archers and lancers that Tahvaz captained? They can still serve to scout… what is it?”

Now the captains were openly uncomfortable. Khadames sighed and squared his shoulders again. “There was a dispute over pay, General. The Lakhmid auxiliaries are no longer with the army. When last I saw them, they had made camp at Arethusa.”

Baraz’s fists clenched and he finally turned to face Shahin fully. The Great Prince stepped back but then halted, standing his ground.

“The Lakhmid chiefs have not been paid?”

“They demanded twice that which they agreed to serve for! I will not let dirty tribesmen extort the Empire of good heavy gold! We do not need them, they are a trouble and a nuisance to us! I bade them return home, and this they did.”

In the corner, where Dahak sat tending to his sore ankle, there was bitter laughter. The captains and officers turned, startled, to see who was there and then shrank back in open fear. The gaunt, dark shape of the wizard was well known in rumor and whisper.

“No tribesman ever went where a perfumed dandy bade him go, Great Prince. If you left some thousands of Lakh-mid tribesmen behind you, you can be- sure that they have taken their pay, and more, from lands you counted a fine prize.“ Dahak’s voice was a whisper, but every man in the tent heard it full well and felt a chill upon the hearing.

Shahin flushed, but there was little he dared say to the dark man.

“Enough.” Baraz growled, thinking furiously. “Khada-mes, send for your fastest riders. Take the pay that the Lakhmids were promised and three times that on horses. Send a man that you can trust and get him on the way to Arethusa. Tell the chiefs of the tribes that I, Shahr-Baraz, the Boar, call upon their honor to help the Empire. Tell them… tell them that when there is battle, the Tanukh will be theirs. Tell them that I, Shahr-Baraz, promise it!”

“It shall be so, General. I shall send my nephew Bahram to treat with them.”

The captain of the heavy horse bowed and strode quickly from the tent, his voice raised to call his lieutenants and banner leaders to him.

The Boar turned to the other men and gestured for them to come closer. “We must fall back, and quickly too. The tribesmen will be lying for us in ambush, and we must regain some room to maneuver. Every man in this army must be on the road back north, with his kit and arms, before daylight. It will be a near thing, even so, but if we are swift, we can evade the noose. Take only those things that are necessary…” Baraz paused and a crafty gleam came into his eye. He turned and faced Shahin.

“In particular, Great Prince, this tent and all that is in it must stay. Not one item may be removed, nor will the tents of your companions and confidants be taken north.”

Shahin sputtered in rage but fell silent when Baraz raised a broad hand.

“You have led an army of the Empire into a dire place, Great Prince. Now you must pay amends for that recklessness. Go, you lead those horsemen who Khadames’ trusted officer did command.“

Shahin looked around, but the faces of his captains and their lieutenants held no support for him. At last, with an angry snarl, he strode out, his robes fluttering behind him. With him gone, Baraz sighed in relief. There was business to be done, and quickly.

“You, lad. What is your name?”

One of the couriers who had been attached to Shahin’s staff stepped forward nervously. He was very young, barely sixteen and with the look of one of the desert tribes. For a moment Baraz wondered what had brought him into the service of the King of Kings. No matter, he thought, and pushed the distraction away.

“Khalid, Lord General.”

“Khalid, three things I need of you, right away-first, Shahin’s horse. Secure it for me and bring it here. If the stablemen give you trouble tell them that the Boar demands it. Second, the Great Prince’s banner and tabard. These too I need. Third, despite what I just said, we will take one wagon north with us-a well-sprung one, with high clearance and enclosed. This is for my friend, who cannot walk at present.”

Khalid looked over his shoulder, to where Dahak was sitting quietly, observing the bustle of men going about a hurried business, and swallowed. “Yes, Lord General! I will see to it immediately!” The boy sprinted out of the tent.

“You others, tell me of the condition and organization of the men…”

Dahak idly watched the boy run out. Though he seemed sleepy to those around him, he had already settled within his mind to a calm center. While the camp was aboil with activity, with thousands of men rushing about to gather up their gear and arms, the sorcerer stretched out his will and covered the encampment with a seeming of peace and nighted sleep. To the Tanukh watchers who lay hid on the hillsides above the camp, all seemed as it had been before. It was difficult work, and Dahak fell into a light trance as his full attention was devoted to this deception.