Chapter 5: The Captain of the Guard
Sheherazad stood on her balcony and looked over the city in twilight. Below her was a starscape of torches and window-lights. Azad never slept, and the streets were crowded with people. Yet not one of them knew what a horrible plight their princess was in. None of them could help. Come morning they would find their city suddenly in possession of the Vizier.
In her despondent mood, the princess wondered how much most of those common people would care. One ruler was exchanged for another: so what? Life went on. It would always be pretty much the same existence for them: a never-ending struggle both with and against the elements and each other to survive. She wondered how many would care if she should leap off the balcony right now and deny the Vizier his chance of killing or marrying her. "Courage" The princess said to herself, as her father had taught her. He would want her to stay. He would never allow her to give up. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned from the railing and walked back inside her gaze drifting, as it was now constantly doing, to the hourglass. It seemed almost impossible to believe that barely half an hour had passed since the original proclamation of her doom.
The princess slumped onto her bed and stared with an empty face at the vaulted ceiling. Her father would be proud of her, if only he was here. She would see this through to the bitter end. But she would not, would never marry that conniving old man. She wondered what Kyashahara was doing now…
As if in reply to the thought, she heard the echo of a horn: someone was sounding the alarm, awakening the palace itself. She sat bolt upright and ran to the balcony, looking out. There seemed to be no change: no army at the gates, no besieging force, nothing to provoke any kind of surprise on behalf of the soldiers. But the sound gave her hope. Maybe some of the guards remained loyal to her father and had rebelled? Maybe some virtuous stranger was attempting to inform the town of the plot within the palace? Perhaps… Could Kyashahara now be coming to her?
No, that was silly. Hope was needed, but delusion was not. She had to keep a clear mind.
And yet… the picture of the outraged prince, sword drawn, charging down the corridors of the palace towards the Vizier and her bedroom stuck within Sheherazad's head.
The Vizier looked up from his book suddenly the moment he heard the horn blast. Immediately he grabbed his staff and stood upright, walking briskly out of his study. No sooner had he done so that he spied his lieutenant, Khaveen already running towards him.
"What is going on? Who has sounded the alarm?"
"Word from the dungeons, sire. The Prince of Persia has escaped." The Vizier sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "That boy is really vexing me."
"I shall see to it personally sire."
"Yes…" The Vizier said slowly, nodding. "Yes, get the guards onto it immediately. I want him captured if possible, dead if not. Under no circumstances are you to allow him to reach the princess. Now hurry. I have some surprises of my own to prepare for him…"
I ran. I ran and I ran. While the sound of a horn blowing nearby echoed through the halls I ran. From stairs to hallways, foyers to balconies, balconies to stairways I ran. I had at long last made it out of the dungeons and back into the lush, brilliant halls of the palace proper. There were surprisingly few guards here, though I noticed a few signs; blood on curtains and carpets, broken weapons, blocked passages, that seemed to suggest that the Vizier's seizure of the palace had not been too easy or without loss on his part. By the looks of it, though, there was now not a single man or woman in the palace who was still loyal to the sultan or the princess: I clung to the hope that there were more in the dungeons, otherwise even if I did manage to reach Sheherazad it would be a rather pointless gesture.
Naturally, especially after I heard the horn blast sound, there were those that came to accost me, but in the wider spaces of the palace I was able to evade or flee from them for the most part. In the odd narrow hallway or before I door I was forced to fight for my life, many of such struggles being close calls, but having got thus far I was now driven on by a kind of madness towards one goal alone: to reach Sheherazad, to see her smiling face. I also noted that the men seemed reluctant to kill me: I had seen no archers, and many had attacked rather feebly: I thanked my stars countless times for my royal birth and the fear it instilled in the Vizier, but I knew it would not last forever, and I needed to make good use of it. I ran.
Emerging from yet another staircase, the door sliding shut behind me, I stopped to gather my breath for a moment. I knew that time was still pressing, but there was no chance I could keep up my current pace and yet still survive the thousand perils of the palace. I knew where I was now: I was in a circular plaza at the very base of the living quarters. I was so very close to my goal now, and utterly elated as I realised it may yet be possible to achieve it. Then I heard footsteps approaching.
I stood, turned and drew my sword to look down the corridor. Looking genuinely ominous in the black-and-red uniform of the palace guard Khaveen, the Captain, came striding towards me. He had escorted me through the palace whenever I had visited: I had thought him a good and honourable man, and likened him favourably to myself. It seemed my faith in him had been horribly misplaced.
"Prince Kyashahara," he said with a bow as he neared me, "No-one can doubt your courage or your tenacity at having come so far in so short a time. I thought you to be a strong man, a man of resource: rather like myself. It seems my faith in you was well-placed. But you're tired. You still have a very long way to go. There are dozens of my finest troops now standing between you and your goal. I am here. If you surrender now, I guarantee your survival and safe return to Persepolis. But if you continue, I will be forced to carry out my orders and kill you. I do promise, though, it will be an honourable death: swift and merciful."
Seeing him there shook my conviction that I could survive. A second time I felt the grips of black despair reach me, while at the same time another part of my mind searched for a reason to continue. It found one: "And Sheherazad?" I asked.
"Her fate is in her own hands. It does not concern you: she will have no suitor. Find another wife."
I experienced then what men call an epiphany. I realised what it was that drove me on other than desperation and stubbornness, what force kept me going: I loved Sherherazad. I could not bear the thought of her dead, or of myself alive and without her, knowing that I had not done everything in my power to prevent it. I shook my head: "Only three days ago I'd have accepted your offer Khaveen. Now I cannot."
"I am sorry to hear it. We shall settle this here and now. No outside help, no cheap tricks: just you and I, man to man, blade to blade."
I had not the time to argue further or to say anything, so in response I advanced with my drawn sword. Khaveen quickly unsheathed his in one smooth movement. My heart pounded: I was already tired (though the brief pause had allowed me to catch my breath) and this captain was not. I was younger then he, but he more experienced than I. The odds were strongly against me, but there was no way in heaven or on earth that I would have allowed myself to have come so far only to turn back now. It would be all or nothing.
I attacked first with a yell, stabbing forwards furiously at Khaveen before he could entirely prepare himself. Though caught by surprise, he blocked the blow and threw it back, leaving my guard wide open. As he stabbed I jumped backwards. The captain did not pause in his attacks for a moment: he ran, advancing rapidly forwards, slashing again and again. I backed away as fast as I could; stumbling over loose stones, occasionally clumsily diverting a blow that otherwise would have been fatal. I could feel the wall behind me coming rapidly closer, almost see my life slipping away from me. I tried to counter-attack, to retake the offensive, but Khaveen swatted the attempt aside with ease. The looming presence of the wall was barely a metre from my back: I was between a rock and a hard place.
But, impossible as it may seem, I had learned some things in the last thirty minutes. Perhaps this can be explained by the fact they felt like a lifetime. One was that there was always a chance of victory, even in the most desperate situation. The other was that my fast reflexes were useful in swordplay for more than just blocking attacks with my own blade. I knew that I was no match for the guard captain in any conventional fight: I had to do something unexpected. I immediately jumped backwards, towards the wall, braced my feet on the vertical stone and used it to launch me forwards, sword held out before me.
Khaveen was shocked, but his instincts allowed him to parry the attack, sweeping the blade away. I barrelled into him around the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending us both onto the hard tile floor with me on top. I heard a loud crack of his head against the ground and his sword dropped from his hand. He looked concussed: his eyes were on me but unfocused, but his hands were already moving to try and push me off. I raised my sword above me with both hands above my head, and then bought it down into his.
A sprinkle of blood went over my clothes, and I closed my eyes at just the right moment. I would have really preferred not to have done that, but I knew I could not allow him to follow me if he was bent on killing me. I got up, picked up his dropped sword to save me the trouble of wrenching out my own and having to look at he ruined face, and went up through the doors and up the stairs.