Chapter 45

Day 7 of the Garland Moon, Year 1171 (Fódlan Calendar)

"You're not holding your sword like I taught you," Shahid groaned as he and Darius circled each other.

The mirza's son smiled arrogantly. "Why would I? I already learned from the best!" he explained as he glanced over to his father, who was watching over the training session. Ghalib did not react to the compliment.

"Ha! We'll see about that, little cousin!" Shahid said as he quickly lunged forward. Darius successfully dodged the attack and made a swipe of his own. Their training blades met.

"Footwork, Darius, footwork!" Shahid shouted as he lunged forward while keeping contact on the blades. Darius stumbled three steps back before finally tripping and landing in the dirt. Many patches of grass in the mirza's citadel had been smothered by Darius's hard falls over the years.

Darius argued, "But I thought I had an opening. If I-."

"If you're going to throw yourself off balance for a kill strike, you had better land it." Shahid snorted as he added, "You should thank your father for not letting me use real blades with you."

Darius looked to his father for help. The mirza stepped forward and said grimly, "Shahid… you know how this works. Make sure Darius remembers his mistake."

"As you wish," Shahid said. Darius started to curl into a defensive position, but he still screamed in pain as Shahid lashed him across the back.

Darius cried out, "Please… I just…"

"Just what? Don't like failure? Then prove it!" Shahid commanded.

Shahid hit him once again and would have gone for a third had Ghalib not finally called out, "Alright, that's enough! Good work, Shahid. You're free to go."

Shahid sighed as he beheld the whimpering child. "Don't worry, Darius. I'll make sure you get it figured out before it's time to invade Fódlan. I'll need your help, because I don't think we'll get it from the rest of our family," he said before leaving. It was not much, but it was the most sympathy that could be expected from Prince Shahid.

Darius was still clawing the grass to reach a sitting position when his father knelt beside him.

Ghalib said in a calm but serious voice, "Darius, my son… are you crying? Pain is a part of life. Crying over it won't change anything."

"I-it's too much," the boy muttered.

Ghalib shook his head. "Thyus and Drypetis said the same. Do you know what happened to your siblings?"

"T-they went to the monastery…"

"That's right. They went to the monastery. And do you know why?"

"Because there can only be one ruler of Almyra…"

Ghalib affirmed, "Indeed. Despite what my brother, the emir, or the sardars think, offering alternatives only induces weakness. We've seen it again and again, starting when my father left two strong sons behind. We must leave no doubt about who the future of our land is. Do you want that to be you, Darius?"

Darius's tears had finally stopped as he nodded resolutely. "Yes, father."

"Good. So do I." Ghalib put a hand on his son's cheek. "I've put so much investment and trust in you. My generals doubted you from the moment you exchanged your mother's life to come into this world. Some said you had been cursed by a vicious āl. But no… I've always believed you were the one to succeed me. I am so certain that I never pursued a new consort, which will put me years behind should you fail. So… you don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

"No, father."

Ghalib smiled, picked up Darius's training sword, and handed it to him. "Good. Then let's get you off the ground and practice that footwork. I've got a few techniques you might want to try."

The opportunity for another personal lesson from his father gave Darius a warm feeling in his chest, but as he stood and moved to retake a fighting position, he suddenly stopped and asked, "But if there can only be one king, what about Shahid?"

Ghalib moved closer to his son again and sighed. "He'll have to be dealt with, obviously. Shahid is the last resort should all of my children fail. He has been more malleable to our goals compared to Faruq's other princes, but it's too late to teach him wisdom. Be certain, Darius, that you are the future, not him. And someone who has struck the future king of Almyra must punished, correct?"

Darius grimaced in agreement. "That's right."

"Good. Now take your stance."

Interlude: Heir of the Oath- Day 6 of the Blue Sea Moon, Year 1187 (Fódlan Calendar)

Darius was strolling through a prairie in the mountains, running his hand over the wildflowers. He was completely alone, and he was walking towards an overlook for no reason other than because he wanted to see the view. The breeze carried a gentle scent, and he could hear a faint waterfall somewhere up ahead. Nothing else mattered or existed. Just as he was close enough to peer over the cliff, however, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"You didn't forget me, did you?" Shahid asked.

Darius turned to see the horrible pale corpse squeeze his shoulders and then shove him backwards. Darius's foot found nothing to support him as he tumbled backwards into the void…

Padishah Darius woke with a startled twitch as he leapt up from the floor of his chambers. A lone candle burning low dimly illuminated a map he had been analyzing for over an hour before exhaustion overtook him. Sleep had not given him rest, and he rubbed his temple as he battled a headache.

"No, Shahid… I haven't forgotten," he muttered to himself. How could he ever forget that night, how his father came to him and explained what was about to happen… How he was guilty of the very sin they were willing to go to war with Khalid over…

The padishah of the Tabarzin walked to a window and looked outside. It was not quite nighttime, so he had thankfully not missed his upcoming meeting with his generals. In want of some fresh air before it began, Darius blew out the candle and trudged through the dim halls until he reached the perimeter wall walk. Abbas stood out there alone, staring at the dusk sky. A few soldiers were out training, but it was unusually quiet on the citadel grounds. Most of the garrison was away.

"Hey…" Darius greeted as he stretched his muscles and joined his cousin. "What are you looking at?"

"Hmm? Oh… nothing," Abbas mumbled. "I was wondering where you were. Thought I might have to hunt you down."

"Sorry… I fell asleep while studying. Wasn't too responsible of me," Darius admitted as they began to walk together.

Abbas smiled thinly. "Ha! You, the irresponsible one? You're the only person holding this operation together!"

"You think so?"

"I know so. I certainly couldn't do it," Abbas said as he subtly shook his head.

"Because you don't have the skills? Or because you're having doubts?" Darius asked, though he already knew the answer. It had been obvious for many months that Abbas was increasingly conflicted.

"Khalid tried to kill my father so he could take over and make Almyra look like his precious Fódlan. I can never forgive that, or anyone still willing to support him. So I'll do what's necessary, but… part of me wonders if I deserve the opportunity." Abbas lightly kicked at a loose pebble in frustration. "My father never loved my mother… or me. He loved Tiana and Khalid, and I hated them for it. I told myself that if that brat was destined to be king, the least I could do was treat him in a way that would make him stronger. It was never really about that, of course. I just wanted him to feel pain like I had. But you, Darius… you're fighting because it's the right thing to do, not because of a personal vendetta. It makes me look a joke in comparison. A joke that pretended he could be king."

"To be honest, Abbas, I don't think Khalid's ascension was ever that certain. Had you been less of an ass, you might have had your shot. Now it's going to be either James or I."

"Ha! You don't mince words, do you, Darius? Fine… I won't, either. I might have been an ass to Khalid, but your father was just as cruel to both me and my brothers. He didn't have the excuse of immaturity like I did. You've thankfully done much better so far, because I'm not sure I could have stuck around much longer otherwise."

"Hmm," was Darius's only reply. He had always justified his father's decisions because Ghalib knew what needed to be done to make Almyra strong and whole again, but his world was at a loss when the illusion of the mirza's invincibility was shattered. Little did the prince know just how awful Ghalib could be, but Darius was still impressed by Abbas's insight. He never found Abbas particularly intelligent, but perhaps recent events had spurred some contemplation.

Abbas continued, "But don't get me wrong… Khalid is guilty. It's not even the first time for him. I know Khalid probably wasn't there to personally kill Shahid, but he's still responsible for the soldiers he commanded. So, I'm with you all the way. I'm just glad it's now with someone I can be proud of supporting."

Darius froze upon hearing yet another reminder of Shahid. He recovered by telling Abbas, "I'm sorry I couldn't finish the job for us at Merv. My arrow was just a few inches from Khalid's heart . But when I'm king, I promise to fully restore you and the rest of the expunged children to your rightful reputation. It's the least I can do."

"Good. No one else seems to care, so I'm counting on you."

Darius turned his gaze upward as he and his cousin watched the first stars appear. "You know… I'm glad you're here, Abbas. That 'cruel man' you mentioned raised me to be the perfect heir, one that was fated to stand opposed to you and your brothers. I'm glad it didn't entirely come to that."

Perhaps Darius did not warrant the company given the truth, but his cousin remained ignorant. "Yeah. Not entirely," Abbas said. He then tapped his hand on the crenellations and declared, "We should get to that meeting soon, right? I'll support whatever you say, but don't expect me to provide you with any profound defense."

Darius smiled. "Don't worry about it. Just stare at anyone who disagrees with me menacingly if you need to."

"Ha! Finally, something I'm good at!"

The two cousins laughed some as they walked through the quiet corridors of the citadel. However, they soon heard raised voices coming from the council chambers. The other generals were already arguing by the time Darius and Abbas arrived.

The council rooms were as drab as the rest of the citadel. His father once explained that it provided the aura of a perpetual heroic military campaign, one in which the mirza and his mission were too important to worry about the finer things of life. Unfortunately, it also seemed to keep everyone on edge at all times.

"I am your superior, Tiribazus. I have no obligation to answer to you," Spahbed Youtab said insolently with crossed arms just as Darius and Abbas entered. Everyone was so focused on the argument that they forgot to treat the arrival of the padishah with the usual respect.

Agha Tiribazus was a middle-aged commander from one of the great houses with many years of experience, though most of that came in the form of fruitless battles in their "war" against Fódlan. He laughed dismissively as he told Youtab, "This is a matter of war, and I am a warrior. You were never the mind behind the operations, Youtab, only the mirza's arm. Anyone could have done your job. You were just an administrator."

"Just an administrator? Mirza Ghalib was a firm believer in proper management. Talk doesn't win battles, Tiribazus. Numbers, planning, and organization do." Youtab smiled wicked. "Do you know why he never promoted you? Because you were never more than a useful idiot to him."

Tiribazus immediately grasped the sheath at his side. "You dare dishonor the name of-."

"That's enough!" Darius shouted, prompting Tiribazus to halt. "We shouldn't do Khalid's job for him. I don't want to ban weapons from this room, but I will if I can't count on my generals to show a modicum of maturity."

"… That won't be necessary, Your Majesty," Tiribazus relented as he sat down. Darius sighed as he did the same.

Youtab was right- some of the generals in that room were no more than useful idiots. Mirza Ghalib had appointed many of them in exchange for favors or to extend his support base to unreached lands. He promoted generals from every corner of Almyra to cultivate the image of a unifying leader all while intending to give them little to do other than leading the occasional meaningless raid. Darius's father strongly believed in a top-down hierarchy where all decision making ultimately ran back up to him. It worked at the time, but leadership had become a total mess in his absence. Despite his faults, Abbas was the sole person Darius trusted.

Another general, this one a native of Meteora named Nicasia, prompted, "The outburst you witnessed was inappropriate, but you should know of the plan Youtab has been working on independently. It is most shameful."

"There's no need," Darius told her. "I already know the plan. I authorized it myself."

"You… what, Your Majesty? Why were we not told?" the appalled Meteoran queried.

"Because I didn't want the Votaries in this room and in our army to argue with the plan. Youtab's team is what we need to even the playing field. I need no further justification."

Several faces around the room expressed discontent, but no one dared speak up. Abbas courteously stared at anyone who looked like they were about to voice an opinion.

With the debate concluded, Darius's scout commander leaned over the map. He was a long-haired younger man from Saba named Sharjeel. He told the host, "In that case, we had best get her team prepared. The scouts that returned a few hours ago confirmed that Elamite and Sabaean troops have left Istakhr. I have no word from Astane yet, but Shomali troops will surely be close behind." He pointed to a line running between Elam and the Tabarzin. "Sabaean cavalry has already diverted on this road to the south."

The room darkened some upon the realization that the war was finally on its way to their location. Darius rubbed his chin. "They plan to close our access to the Mikdash. Fortunately, we don't need to sneak many inside for our plan to succeed."

"Our escape horses are already in place, so we don't need to hurry with that," Youtab added.

"Very good. Sharjeel… have you send out notices for our troops on leave to return immediately?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Just as soon as I heard from the scouts."

Darius nodded in gratitude. Not everyone was as impressed, however.

Deciding that he had stayed quiet long enough for his previous outburst to be out of memory, Tiribazus complained again, "Even if this plan is a modest success, it will send the message that we are too weak to face Elam directly. We already look bad enough letting our soldiers feast at home rather than preparing for battle."

Youtab countered, "We've already finished all the fortifications we have the numbers to defend, and our soldiers are already as well-trained as they'll ever be. Or do you feel your instruction has been inadequate?"

Nicasia chuckled. "Tiribazus is right about you, Youtab. Your fascination with math has clouded your vision. This isn't about whether we need the troops; it's about the message it sends. Despite Aurelian's shrewdness, Meteora was vanquished in the blink of an eye because they exposed their weakness to the world. We want our soldiers believing we've done everything possible to prepare for our victory, and we want Khalid's soldiers trembling at the thought that they're about to meet a mile's worth of fortifications teeming with warriors."

Abbas guffawed, "So that they'll laugh with relief when they see the defenses we've actually been able to cobble together? Really, and people call me the stupid one!"

The prince looked to Darius for approval, who smiled subtly as a congratulations. Darius then added firmly, "Justinian didn't die because he was 'weak.' He died because he was an arrogant fool who was more worried about his reputation than feeding his people. So what's the value in having our soldiers eat up valuable rations here rather than getting in a few good meals at home, seeing their families, and remembering what they are fighting for?"

There was more silence until Sharjeel said, "I think your strategy is sound, Your Majesty." This prompted a wave of support for the padishah until eventually even the ignominious duo of Tiribazus and Nicasia suddenly agreed.

Half of the generals nearly dozed off as the meeting transitioned to the much-dreaded logistics as presented by Spahbed Youtab. While unpopular, the discussion did not prompt much controversy.

Everyone stood once the meeting finished. As the other generals made their way out, Darius noticed that Youtab had not moved an inch. Abbas hesitated in the doorway when he also saw this, but Darius waved him to go on. Once alone, the padishah asked, "Do you have a problem, Youtab? I defended you back there."

"Respectfully, Your Majesty, you defended yourself. It was your plan, after all. I'm not here to talk about that, though."

"Go on."

Youtab paced for a few seconds before committing to her story. She explained, "The others are wrong about me… I care a good deal about vision, actually. I have respected Mirza Ghalib's wish to recognize you as ruler, and I will continue to do so. However, I want to know what your goals are. The mirza died five months ago, and in that time, you have hardly said a word about our inevitable conflict with Fódlan. I understand the current threat presented by James and Khalid, and there is a very high chance we will not survive. I can accept death, but I am unwilling to die fighting against our own people with no higher mission in mind. Give me at least that much before I go."

Darius crossed his arms uncomfortably. "Is this really something anyone should be worrying about right now?"

"My great-grandmother died fighting on the Throat. Then it was my grandfather, then my parents. It will continue to happen until someone puts an end to Fódlan. So no… there is never a time I am not thinking about it," she seethed.

Darius was annoyed enough to consider telling her that their deaths were not his problem, but he instead held up his hands defensively and asked, "What would you have me say, Youtab? We have a much more pressing issue, and I haven't spent time worrying about what comes next. Any promises I make you would be empty."

"Your father always found time to prepare," Youtab told him with a disappointed expression. "I'm surprised that you do not wish to follow his example. He was the strongest leader I've ever known. Everyone here would agree."

The padishah's face hardened. "Yes… I thought so, too. And yet he died, didn't he? The father I knew would tell me to learn from his mistakes, not repeat them. He also did not believe you to be a fool. So tell me, Youtab… our raids accomplished little while Fódlan was still divided and at war. By all accounts, they have settled their issues and are now rebuilding. With that in mind, do you really believe an invasion would be successful?"

Youtab flinched. "An invasion would require a much larger force than we have ever mustered, I will agree. It will require the full backing of our people, but it is still very much possible."

"Maybe. Maybe not. The last time we tried one on that scale, it ended with them reorganizing their military and building Fódlan's Locket." Darius shook his head and said bluntly, "You want honesty, Youtab, so I'll give it to you. Invading Fódlan is not my priority. We are currently under invasion from Elam, not Fódlan. I can tell you this, however. Once we defeat Khalid and expose him for the traitor he is, no one in Almyra will want to associate with Fódlan ever again. We'll also achieve the peace necessary for your invasion. That means that, for now, our goals are fully aligned. As for what comes after, I'm not currently interested in a debate. You don't need you to view me how you treated my father. I don't demand your agreement on every issue. I demand that you do the job before you. If that means you're fighting in service of a theoretical war against Fódlan, then so be it. You have my blessing. Can we agree on that?"

Youtab was taken aback but also impressed by his authoritativeness. She bowed humbly and answered, "Yes, Your Majesty. I'll see it done."

Darius's headache flared up again as he walked to his quarters. He had quelled the concerns of his generals for a moment, but matters would only get worse should they win the war. He was finally beginning to understand something- his father's vision of absolute, singular power was always a myth. Even the fearsome Mirza Ghalib was beholden to people like Youtab, forced to say and do things he did not believe in to garner and maintain essential support. The debt would eventually come due. The same was surely true of all the other great leaders- King Faruq, Sardar Soraya, Regent Philemon, and so forth.

If he were to somehow defeat Khalid and overthrow the rest of the royal family along the way, just what would Darius do as king? His father only raised him to rule with power, but what exactly did that mean? Give the people what they want, even if that desire was another bloody war?

Well… it probably would not matter. He would not survive the coming weeks, and perhaps that was for the best. He could die for a righteous cause before having to worry about what comes after.

Darius was ready for some legitimate rest, but when he opened the door to his chambers, he was greeted by a dark shadow lurking on the back wall. All the command he confronted his troubled generals with was gone. Breath vacated Darius's lungs as he fell and backed away against the other side of the corridor.

It was Shahid again.

The padishah found just enough strength to scramble to his feet, charge down the stairs, and race out to the citadel's grounds. He leapt up another set of stairs and entered the ruins of the ancient palace. It was dark, but he knew how to navigate the space without the need for sight. He crawled into an empty but familiar room and hid in the corner, clawing at each side of his head in a panic.

Living with the guilt was never easy, but Darius was able to justify it as necessary for several years. With his father dead, however, he was probably the only person left alive other than the assassin himself who knew the truth. It was then that Shahid began to appear to him- sometimes in dreams, other times when he least expected it.

It was outrageous, yet Darius found himself pondering if he really was cursed, or if some cruel jinn had witnessed everything and was adopting his cousin's form to torment him over the truth.

Darius frequently retreated to that little room in the ruined palace to escape listening ears, but also because of what the room itself meant. It was there that he was born. By most accounts, Nasrin Mihran was lonely and unhappy during her days at the citadel, but she made a brief effort to revitalize the old palace and create a warmer life for her and her children. Maybe her plans could have gone somewhere had she not gotten pregnant that third time.

It was the room where Nasrin died.

But…

It was also the only room where she ever held her final baby.

For that reason, it always had a calming effect on Darius, almost as if her spirit was still there to embrace him. Did he deserve it? Would she actually be proud of him?

Probably not. And yet, he returned to that embrace time and time again like a child. Perhaps he had taken one too many beatings for that child to ever grow up. There was so much he wanted to ask her, but he instead sat there alone in a dark, damp corner chasing after a whim.

And yet… at least there was a hint of warmth.