The Flame of Destiny

Zhubin had never imagined that his downfall would be so swift. Yesterday he was riding proudly at the head of a division of the elite cataphracts, the finest warriors in all of Iranshan, perhaps in all of the world. In the east, he had defeated mighty Kushan armies, in the south he massacred the savage Bedouins and even chased away the dreaded Sacae in his many battles. All that stood between him and the supreme military post was an aging, incompetent general.

And now, he cursed, he was patrolling the muddy banks of the Tigris at the head of a miserable band of brigands that called themselves scouts. This was not his idea of heroism, this was not his destiny.

After he failed to recapture the bridge, Vologast had not shown any clemency despite all his previous successes! One setback, not even due to his fault, and he was relegated to this lowly outpost. He had lost, only because of this woman, he thought bitterly, this barbarian witch. If I ever catch her, she’ll pay dearly.

“Captain,” shouted one of the men, “there are footprints near the river.”

Zhubin rode towards the river bank where the scout stood. “What do you expect,” he scoffed Zhubin, “we’re on farmland.”

“These don’t belong to a farmer,” the man said apologetically and pointed to faint impressions in the mud. “Horse tracks that come out of the river and then go west, following the river bank.” He gestured to another print, “look here, this is a rider’s boot, not a farmer’s sandal.”

These men weren’t so useless after all, thought Zhubin. He looked closer, “It seems like a rather small footprint. So, we’re looking for a small man.”

“Or a woman,” said the scout.

Zhubin grinned, that would only make it easier. He took his fastest riders to join him in an outflanking maneuver across the firm road, the others were ordered to follow the trail.

“Whether man or woman,” he shouted, “there’s no escaping Parthian riders. He dashed forward, splashing the mud high in the air.

Kallisto rode at a brisk pace. The swollen river had turned the trail into a muddy mess, yet she preferred it to the hardened trade route more inland. She hoped to meet fewer prying eyes.

Crossing the river had been more difficult than expected. She had drifted hundreds of yards in the strong current and instead of ending up on solid rocks, she landed on soft muddy ground. She hadn’t erased the tracks; that would take too much time and only make it more suspicious. What are the chances of patrols exploring the shore?

After two hours of hard riding, she found a small patch of green pasture and allowed her horse to rest and regain its strength. The faithful animal grazed calmly and Kallisto rested a while. It’s still a long journey, she thought.

Suddenly the horse raised its head. Her faithful mount had a sixth sense of danger. She listened intently and heard riders in the distance. They were riding very quickly, these weren’t farmers. “By the fire of Tartarus!” she swore, “I shouldn’t have dallied.” She threw her cloak over her, jumped on the horse, and galloped away. No more breaks until I reach the Shah, she swore.

[Picture Kallisto Fleeing]

She galloped on over narrow trails, trampled across muddy fields and splashed through small rivers. The noise of her own horse made it impossible to hear the ones chasing her, but she kept riding on, hoping to outrun any enemies.

She entered a small grove. There was a tight turn and she had to slow down. Her hand reached for a weapon, her instincts told her this was the perfect spot for an ambush.

Her instinct was right. The road was blocked by half a dozen men holding long spears and carrying bows. The horse reeled backward. Kallisto was almost thrown off and only just kept her balance.

She could hear the riders behind approach, they were only a few hundred yards away. She was trapped! She spun desperately, looking for a way out.

“Get off your horse,” an angry voice called from above, “now!”

She looked up at a man standing on a mud-brick wall along the trail. He was a cavalry officer and confidently aimed an arrow at her.

One of the spearmen charged her. Kallisto’s leg shot forward, she pushed the spear away with her foot then kicked her heel hard against the man’s nose. She heard a crack and the man fell to the ground.

In the same instant she drew her bow and aimed it at the man on the wall, “drop your weapon or die yourself!” she shouted. Her eyes burned with an unreal brightness and in the twilight of the grove, they looked like little flames.

This is no ordinary messenger, Zhubin thought and recoiled. But he was Zhubin, he had not risen from a street boy in Babylon to a high-ranking commander in the Parthian army by being easily intimidated.

“You’re not in a position to command,” he said disdainfully, “I suggest you listen to me. We’re eight strong warriors, and more are coming, you can never beat us all.”

“I’m not afraid of death.” Kallisto replied defiantly, “and I’m happy to take you with me across the Chinvat Bridge.”

“That would be most unwise,” scoffed Zhubin unfazed, “if you kill me, I can’t vouch for the behavior of my men. A Kurd, a woman. After yesterday’s treacherous defeat, they’ll want revenge. There are things worse than death they can do to you.”

The horsemen behind her rounded the corner. The trap was closed, she had nowhere to go.

Zhubin grinned, then continued on a gentler tone, “but if you put down your weapons now, I can guarantee that we will treat you with honor, like a Parthian commander.”

“I am a Parthian commander,” replied Kallisto angrily, “and I serve the rightful King.”

Despite her bravado, Zhubin could hear the doubt in her voice and knew he had won. “Sure, your lord claims that, but I’m afraid we see things differently,” he said sarcastically, “to us, you could be a savage mercenary captain, a barbarian witch in the service of a rebellious usurper. There’ll be no mercy for you, no ransom, or even the solace of a quick death. Quite on the contrary, the King will happily use you to show what a terrible fate awaits everyone who is against him.”

Kallisto shuddered, was he bluffing? But she knew he was right. She was still a ‘barbarian’ and had no ancestral rights in Parthia. Worse, if they found out who she really was, there would be no bounds to their cruelty.

“But still I offer you a way out,” said Zhubin. “Now lower your weapon before I change my mind.”

Kallisto desperately looked around but there was no escape. With a sigh, she lowered her bow and handed it along with her knife to one of the scouts. She slowly climbed off her horse.

Zhubin ordered everyone to treat her with respect as if she were a noblewoman of one of the Seven Houses. But he didn’t have to ask for it, no one dared to hurt Kallisto. He had expected anger and hatred, but he saw grudging respect in these men.

Who was that woman that commanded such reverence despite her vulgar barbaric outfit and her aggressive, scornful behavior? He admitted that he felt a little intimidated himself.

With the greatest care, they tied her hands and helped her back onto the horse. She sat straight and held her head high, she was sad but far from broken.

Who was she? Pondered Zhubin. With a shock, he recognized her, and everything became clear. She was the enemy commander that had ambushed him in the battle for the bridge. She was the woman that led his best warriors to their death.

He shivered with fear and trembled with rage. She had killed hundreds of the finest Parthian horsemen, she had brought him his first defeat ever. She had caused his downfall.

He felt like strangling her on the spot but then held back. He decided to keep this knowledge from his men for now. He needed to think, she could be useful. This was no coincidence, the gods had given him a chance to redeem himself or at least take revenge and he wouldn’t squander it.

By the time Zhubin had regrouped all his men, the evening had fallen and they decided to spend the night in a nearby abandoned farmhouse. Kallisto was locked in a separate stone building and guarded continuously.

Zhubin was lost in thought. My men may be scared or impressed by this woman, but I am Zhubin! I didn’t become sarlashkar by respecting anyone. She’s an enemy commander, she has caused my downfall and I want my revenge! But I’m smart. Revenge alone is not enough, I need to get back my position in the army. The King thinks he doesn’t need anyone and drops you like a stone on your first mistake. How can I convince him to promote me to spahbed?

It was midnight and Kallisto leaned against the cold stone wall in a little stall where the scent of pigs was still strong. She was tied to a low wall by her wrists and ankles, she could barely move her head because her neck was tied to a wooden pillar. There was a guard just outside. Despite the soft straw, it was impossible for her to find a good sleeping position.

She didn’t want to sleep anyway, she wanted to escape! She frantically tried to wriggle her hands free, but the more she pulled, the more the ropes cut into her wrists or choked off her breath.

Suddenly the stall door squeaked slowly open. Kallisto froze when she recognized Zhubin. A knife glittered in the moonlight.

“Don’t bother screaming,” he said with a sardonic smile and closed the door, “I’ve asked the guard to leave and the walls are thick.”

Kallisto backed away, pushing herself further against the wall. “But you gave me your word,” she protested, “you promised to treat me honorably.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said grimly, “I’ve got other plans with you.” He grinned and crouched next to her, raising his knife so it hovered before her eyes.

Kallisto trembled with fear. She didn’t understand this man. She had never seen anyone so calculating and so evil. Why did he want to kill her? What had she done to him?

Zhubin pulled her by the hair and jerked her head forward.

Kallisto clenched her teeth, desperately trying to resist the impending pain. Would he really slaughter her like some animal?

No pain came. Instead of slashing her throat, the enemy commander calmly cut the rope at the back of her neck and freed her head. Kallisto eyed the man in surprise. What does he want from me?

“You’re going to take me to your precious King Ardaban,” he whispered, “to your shah and you will plead for me and makes sure he hires me.”

“W... w why would I want to help you?” she replied confusedly.

“From where I sit, you don’t have a lot of options,” replied Zhubin.

Kallisto regained her composure. “Neither have you,” she said, “the tide is turning, soon Ardaban will chase your false king away from the land of the two rivers.”

Zhubin laughed. “Oh no, the tide hasn’t turned yet. Your little victory at Opis is just a pinprick for our mighty army. You’ve no idea what allies Vologast has. The real clash between the two brothers is yet to begin. But that’s not the point now.”

“Then why do you want to leave that invincible army?” mocked Kallisto, “you make no sense.”

“It’s not about that,” retorted Zhubin, “I…” He paused, “I’d rather serve Ardaban. He understands the value of loyalty.”

“And you demonstrate your loyalty by betraying your lord?” asked Kallisto skeptically.

“Shut up. Vologast doesn’t value my skills. Ardaban will. He even respects… your kind.”

Kallisto laughed. “Oh, I get it now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think,” Kallisto continued icily, “if they make that barbarian witch a general, then even I - a lowly street boy from Babylon, traitor of Vologast - stand a chance.”

Zhubin scowled.

She didn’t trust him at all and expected a ruse but it was her only chance to escape. “Very well, we understand each other. I’ll bring you to the Shahanshah and tell him what you have done for me and what you can do for him. It’ll be up to the Shah to decide your fate.”

“Good,” said the defector, “that’s all I ask.”

He proceeded by cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles. He returned her weapons and they carefully slipped out of the stall together.

The horses were a little further away, on a small patch of grass. They were guarded by one of the men. Zhubin casually walked over to the guard while Kallisto followed, hidden in the shadows.

Zhubin smiled.

“What’s the matter,” asked the guard, “why are you laughing?”

When Kallisto got close enough, she pounded the guard’s head with a log.

“That’s why!” said Zhubin as the guard fell unconscious. He never liked his men.

They tied up the guard and untied all the horses, including those they didn’t take with them. They headed west to Ardaban camp.