The Flame of Destiny

Despite the difficult path, Kallisto and Zhubin rode at a fast pace in complete darkness. They took a first break after four hours. Kallisto guessed they were now closer to Ardaban’s camp than to Vologast’s and started to feel more confident.

Exhausted from the ride, Zhubin dismounted. He inspected the painful bruises on his shoulder. During the crazy night’s ride, his horse had slipped several times and he fell off once.

He looked anxiously at Kallisto. She had taken the turns without slowing down, without hesitation, and looked like she could go on for hours. She didn’t even bother getting off her horse. Those Kurds are damned good riders, I must admit.

When he got up again he felt the cold of a steel blade against his throat. “Now tell me the real reason why you’re abandoning your king,” hissed Kallisto.

“I’ve already told you,” growled Zhubin angrily, “I want respect and appreciation.”

Kallisto snorted. “Even ‘my kind’ knows that you won’t be respected if you deceive your lord. The Shah may like betrayal but he hates traitors. Ardaban will never forgive you abandoning his brother. Unless…” she paused, thinking for a moment. “Unless you have something to bargain with. You’d better tell me.”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

She pushed the sword against his naked flesh. “I don’t think you have many options.”

Zhubin swore under his breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. But first, swear to me that you’ll take me to Ardaban and not tell anyone about this.”

“That depends on whether you tell me the truth.”

Zhubin’s eyes flashed angrily but he went on, “there’s a traitor in your ranks. A high lord, one of the Seven, has promised to switch sides in the great battle. I don’t know who it is, but Vologast has paid him in gold and silver.”

“How much money,” asked Kallisto, “gold or silver?”

“I don’t know,” stammered Zhubin, “but it was a lot I tell you. A full cartload.”

“If you don’t even know whether it was a cart of gold or of silver, we have no idea of ​​its value,” said Kallisto, “then we don’t know how important that lord is and how many warriors he has under his command. Your information is worthless. Tell me more.”

“That’s all I know,” said Zhubin, “I can’t go back now. You promised to help me. I beg you, take me to Ardaban.”

“I’ll help you,” said Kallisto, “you saved me and your information could be valuable. But let’s get one thing straight, you’re working for me now and you do exactly as I say or I’ll send you back to Vologast... I wonder how he’ll react to your defection.”

Zhubin nodded.

[Picture Zhubin]

The pair arrived at Ardaban’s camp the next day. They requested an immediate private audience with the Shah. The royal chamberlain told them he was very busy but promised to convey the message.

As they waited in an empty tent, Kallisto began brushing her hair and removing mud stains from her face. She wasn’t finished when the chamberlain returned sooner than expected and now Kallisto told him to wait.

“Come on,” hissed Zhubin, “don’t do that. He’s your King.”

“He can’t see me like this,” said Kallisto apologetically, “I’m a muddy mess.”

Zhubin laughed. “You’re a general, not a lady.”

“And you call us barbarians,” she scoffed but agreed to come after she finished braiding her hair.

Even in his battle outfit, the Shah is handsome and regal thought Kallisto when she entered the royal tent with Zhubin and saw the seated monarch. He wore finely crafted scale mail armor, embossed with Parthian symbols. His head was adorned with a simple golden diadem and his beard was curled in the Persian fashion. But he looked weary and tired, she thought sadly, in a way he never looked even during the worst days of the campaign against the Romans. Commanding these treacherous nobles against his own brother must fall hard on him.

“Basu Kallisto,” said Ardaban as he looked up and a smile appeared on his weary face, “what an unexpected and wonderful pleasure. It warms my heart to see you alive so soon.”

Kallisto saw genuine delight in his eyes and she quickly bowed her head to hide her upcoming blush. She was not afraid to chastise her officers or charge into a line of Roman legionnaires but somehow felt nervous in the presence of this handsome prince.

“You look radiant,” continued the Shah. He spoke the words with utter sincerity.

Kallisto wiped away another bit of mud from her neck. His friendly words made her feel warm inside. “My Lord, King of Kings,” she stammered, “I am so humbled to meet you. I...”

“Please,” said Ardaban, “let’s skip the formalities We’re among friends. Moreover, you told my advisor it was urgent.”

“Yes Lord,” said Kallisto regaining her composure. “We have good news and … bad news. We captured the bridge at Opis and dealt a major blow to Vologast’s army.”

Ardaban folded his hands together. “Praise Ahura Mazda,” he said, “you are the true flame of Arta.”

“I’m your servant,” replied Kallisto humbly.

Zhubin rolled his eyes and muttered some curse under his breath, but the Shah hadn’t even given him one look.

“Well done,” continued the King, “my brother deserves a thorough spanking for his betrayal. But what’s the bad news? Did we lose many good warriors?”

“Losses were acceptable,” she said, “it’s about something else. This man can tell you all about it.”

Zhubin fell to his knees and kissed the Shah’s feet.

“Get up good man,” said Ardaban, “Kallisto’s friends are my friends. Who are you and what is your message?”

“I am Zhubin, I am… was sarlashkar, serving your brother.”

The Shah’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in my camp if you serve my brother?”

“I came to warn you,” he said, “there’s a traitor in your midst.”

“One traitor that betrays and another,” growled Ardaban, “how should I feel about that? Have the gods abandoned this world? Tell me who is the traitor, and he will feel the wrath of Ahura Mazda and be consumed by the flame of truth.”

“I don’t know for sure,” stammered Zhubin, “but give me time, and I can find out.”

“We don’t have time,” said the Shah, “battle is near and my patience for treachery is short.”

“I have a suggestion,” spoke Kallisto.

The nobles of the four Houses that had sworn their loyalty to Ardaban assembled in the large command tent. Kallisto took a position slightly to the back and the left of the Shah, where she could observe the notables in their gleaming, silver, and gold-adorned armor. She had wrapped her riding cloak around her, and looked like just any weary scout in a ragged outfit, so nobody took any notice.

As the King told the news of the victory at Opis, she closely observed the lords of the big houses. She saw disbelief at first and then great joy on their faces. Sometimes also a bit of jealousy. The emotions seemed spontaneous, is there really a traitor here, thought Kallisto? Who then? Lord Zik’s round purple face was the most expressively happy, was it feigned? The Lord of Mihran looked back and forth nervously. Did he have something to hide? All the great lords reacted somewhat differently than she would have expected. Did they all have a hidden agenda? Even for Kallisto, in a former life trained in the art of subtle interrogation by the spymaster of Ligeia, it was impossible to be sure.

She looked for explanations, but it wasn’t easy. Zik’s land bordered the Tigris, he would benefit most from a swift end to the war and so his joy might be genuine. Mihran hoped to marry his son to one of Vologast’s daughters and would be worried about his future son-in-law. Varaz, was always an outsider, it was even said that he had connections with the Romans. But today there was not a shred of doubt on his face. The joy at the news of the victory seemed genuine.

There was one lord she hadn’t studied yet, and it wasn’t because she trusted him. It was fear. The House of Suren was the most powerful of the seven Parthian Houses and boasted the famous general Surena, the legendary Spahbed that crushed the Romans at Carrhae more than two centuries ago, in its ancient lineage. His house still crowned the new king and practically owned the title of supreme commander or Spahbed. Since the old King had died, Lord Suren had steadfastly refused to fully commit to one side. He marched with Ardaban but his army slept in a separate camp. Ardaban counted on him and trusted him completely, but Kallisto was always uncomfortable in his presence.

“Before I can give more details about our victory at Opis,” said the Shah sadly, “I have less good news.” He gestured Zhubin to step forward.

While the fallen sarlashkar told his story, Kallisto studied Lord Suren carefully. She noticed how his face turned into a stern mask as soon as Zhubin revealed himself as a man of Vologast. Of course, everyone hates traitors. She looked into his emotionless eyes. Was he loyal or treacherous?

Just when Zhubin told the nobles one of them was a traitor, Suren’s eyes flashed with anger. For a moment his stern mask was broken. This was a sign, it must be.

Zhubin ended his story, leaving the others guessing. For a while, they stared at him in disbelief. Some started to laugh and taunt this traitor. But when they saw the King’s grave face, the laughing quickly faded. The noble lords switched tactics and began reassuring their Shah about their own eternal loyalty and expressed doubts about Zhubin’s motives. “I will remain faithful to you for a thousand years,” said Lord Zik. “Until eternity,” said Lord Varaz, “or Ahriman may take my soul.” Even Lord Suren claimed that he would never betray the true heir.

Kallisto saw how the King seemed to believe all of them. He was not about to blame one of his closest allies. The whole episode put him in an impossible position. I must do something! she thought.

She jumped in their midst. “I know exactly who the traitor is!” she said and pointed accusingly at Lord Suren, “a black raven flew over when you entered the tent, a servant of Ahriman. It’s a bad omen. You must have treacherous thoughts!”

She regretted her impetuous act, even before she could read the anger on Suren’s face.

“Who is that raging witch?” Shouted the Spahbed furiously, “she’s lying. I’m not a traitor.”

Ardaban gazed at him intently without speaking. A hush fell over the crowd and the they looked anxiously at the Shah and Lord Suren whose eyes were locked in a staring contest. Was he seriously elevating the words of the traitor and the witch above those of his highest lord?

“What? You believe her,” stammered the Spahbed indignantly, “that barbarian sorceress is completely mad.”

Now it was Ardaban’s turn to lose his majestic patience. “That barbarian woman and her husband happen to be my most loyal and effective servants,” he said in a biting voice. “I take everything she says very seriously.”

“If they are that loyal, where is their army? We’ve been waiting for a week for them to join us. Why do they accuse me instead of fighting the enemy?”

Kallisto had rarely seen the Shah so upset. “Fool,” he replied furiously, “think for one instant with your toad-brain before you speak. They have fought the enemy. While we dallied near the capital, it was their army of ‘barbarians’ that captured the city of Opis and the bridge over the Tigris.”

The nobles began to speak excitedly.

“Impossible,” stammered Suren, whose face was now as red as the color of his cloak, “she’s lying. The Kurds were west of us seven days ago.”

“Enough!” Ardaban shouted angrily, “we’ve won a great victory, but the war is far from over. I have to be sure of your loyalty.”

“It is beyond doubt,” protested Suren. “I swear by Arta.”

“Silence!” bellowed the king. “I’m no fool. I know some of you have received and even considered dishonorable offers from Vologast. I myself have considered giving up and accepting my brother as Shah. But the time for such wavering is over. The victory at Opis proves that Ahura Mazda is on our side. We’re the true defenders of Arta! Now you have to choose the path of light or the path of darkness. Swear allegiance to me and thus uphold and renew the oath you swore to my father. The doubts you may have had in me and the evil thoughts of schemes and plots will be purged from your soul by the light of Ahura Mazda.”

The nobles were flabbergasted. “This is most unusual,” said Lord Mihran.

“I’m not finished,” said the Shah and looked at Lord Suren. “Our victory was more glorious than anything in living memory. The sign from the heavens could not be clearer. I’m the rightful heir and for this occasion, on this hour, in this place - you will crown me as the new King of Kings, just as your father has crowned my father.”

“We should wait until the war is over,” said Lord Zik.

Kallisto didn’t even wait for a reply. She was the first to kneel down. “My pledge of allegiance is still fresh,” she said, “but with the gods of heaven, earth, and the underworld as witnesses, I renew it until eternity.” She cut her hand with a sharp knife and let the blood fall into the golden cup of the king. “And seal it with my blood as is the custom.”

She then passed the cup to Lord Suren. Now you have to show your colors.

The tent fell silent. A rowdy murmur rose.

Suren looked at the golden cup with disdain. “I have to mix blood with a barbarian? A woman,” he asked, “she’s not one of us.”

The other nobles muttered their support to him and Kallisto wondered if she had overplayed her hand. Perhaps they thought she was just after power. This could ruin the Shah’s plan.

“The Kurds have been our valiant allies for a decade,” spoke the King, “Kallisto does not have a House among the Seven but her blood is as pure as her loyalty to the Empire. There’s no shame in mixing your blood. She should be worried about tainting hers with the blood of a traitor.”

“I am not a traitor,” grumbled the Spahbed but knelt down and took a solemn oath of allegiance. He let a small drop of his blood slide into the golden cup where it was mixed with Kallisto’s.

The King took the cup next and added his own blood. “Arise now Lord Suren, Sphabed of Parthia, my blood-son, we are bound together until our death. I offer you protection and justice in exchange for loyalty and obedience.”

“Arise! Basu Kallisto, blood-daughter of Parthia, Lioness of the Zagros,” said Shah Ardaban solemnly, “we have made a pact until we die.”

The other nobles followed suit, making the same promise one by one.

When the nobles of the Houses present had each made the oath, Ardaban’s servants returned with a finely carved wooden box and handed it to Suren.

He opened it and there was the royal tiara. A dome-shaped marvel, made of gold and inlaid with bright gems. As his ancestors had done for hundreds of years, he would crown the new King of Kings.

The ceremony was short, they didn’t prepare it for weeks as was the custom, but nobody doubted it was valid and blessed by the gods. They also knew that for those present, there was no turning back from the fight anymore, there could be no treachery, or their soul would be carried off by Ahriman to the underworld where it would suffer for eternity.

When it was over, the newly crowned Shahanshah told the nobles to get their armies ready for marching the next day.

Kallisto felt ambivalent as she walked out. It was a strong oath; Lord Suren and the other nobles would not easily break it and thus invoke the wrath of the gods. And for her, it was a victory too, the Shah had honored her almost in the same way as the lords of the great houses. He even addressed her as ‘Basu.’ A title that only the Kurds had used for her as a kind of nickname, shorthand for ‘basilissa’ or queen. But the coronation? It wasn’t her idea, and she knew it was a risky move.

She heard slow clapping in mock applause. “Well done,” said Zhubin sitting on a wooden fence, “a black raven? What a vivid imagination and utter nonsense.”

Kallisto was momentarily stunned by Zhubin’s sarcasm. She had been taught by an astute Greek philosopher and defender of the Original Fire who believed in luck more than omens. But she counted on the fact that most people preferred fortune-tellers and prophets. Zhubin came from Babylon, where ancient gods, astrologers, and barbarian witches were on every street corner and nothing was ever done without consulting the heavens. Why did he rebuke her so sharply?

“It worked, right?” she scoffed. “I’m sure it was Suren. I studied him very carefully.”

“When you were not studying the Shah,” remarked Zhubin dryly when he jumped off the fence, “he’s handsome, for sure, but you looked almost obsessed.”

“Watch your tongue,” hissed Kallisto.

“With all the gold and poohah it was hard to see,” continued Zhubin undeterred, “but I had the impression the interest was mutual. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had exchanged more fluids than simply blood in a cup. I wonder what the Shahbanu thinks of that and the other nobles.”

“Choose your next words carefully Babylonian,” hissed Kallisto icily, her hand clutching her knife, “they could be your last.”

“I used to be a trader and you know that a good merchant always keeps his most valuable carpet hidden? In case his customer is double-crossing him. He can always get it out when the customer turns out to be honest.”

“Why should I care about carpets?” asked Kallisto impatiently.

“It’s the same with good spies and traitors. We don’t tell everything at once. We always keep something extra, some additional piece of information to bargain with. Our life depends on it, you see.”

“I would expect nothing less from you,” replied Kallisto in disgust.

“Well, I’m willing to hand you my best carpet…”

“Why me? You just threatened me?”

“I trust you… No, that’s a lie. I trust that you will not betray me because of what I know – which incidentally I will never reveal to anyone because then it loses its value. And my carpet is… it is perishable, so I need someone that can act fast. But you have to keep me in your service. I think we’ll be a good team.”

“I doubt it,” said Kallisto in disgust. But she could not afford to ignore him. “But I’m interested in your secret.”

“All right. Did you ever wonder why Vologast brought a contingent of Kushan officers here, all the way from across the Indus River?”

“No, but I’m sure that you’re about to tell me.”