A Fading Legacy [5K Event]

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As the Sun seated himself upon the afternoon horizon, he scanned Parthevia’s lands for where Zubaidah might have travelled this time. Sure enough, looking towards the central Parthevian plains, he saw her with Sirrush and several Hashashin travelling towards the Kavir desert. A reddish expanse covered with ruins, where a dozen cities had fallen into the sands’ soft embrace, the Kavir was known as the ‘death of the Udr’ amongst the local nomads. It had once been the heart of a Parthevian empire, but was now haunted by tribes like the Shars. There the sea of sand revealed all its naked form, and all the horrors within; sandstorms and fiery winds, masses of white salt and quicksands, the Kavir had dissuaded Reim and Heliohapt from unification of the Parthevian peninsula.


When rumour reached Zubaidah, the Hashashin had requested that her Amakh branch investigate the Kavir where this someone had been sighted. If rumour was believed, and that was a hefty if, then some sort of race-course had appeared within the Kavir, shifting closer towards northern Parthevia with each night. It had only been three nights since this race-course had been first spotted, but some brave men and women had ventured inside and reported back something unbelievable.


Parthevia had been thrown into disarray when word reached Tisifun and the southern cities. Kosrow’s mausoleum was opened for the first time in centuries and, sure enough, his sarcophagus seemed bare and empty. Some said that family graves were just as empty. Others said that half-familiar figures had been spotted outside towns and villages. All were afraid…


It was barely evening when Zubaidah arrived where Kosrow had made his camp within the Kavir desert. A lifeless land for a lifeless king, she thought whilst sunken and sand-swept ruins passed her by. In the centre was another such ruin but, unlike before, traces of life clung onto the crumbling stone. A stand had been erected upon the sand and stone where small groups milled about. It was not something grand, not at all, but Zubaidah could not help but stand in awe that something had been built within the hostile Kavir desert - and in so little time.

As she approached the newly-built stands, Zubaidah caught sight of someone wearing Hashashin garb. She was concerned at this, however, since she had thought her Hashashin were the only ones assigned here, ‘Hail, comrade!’ He knelt down at once, head bowed and black hair trailing, ‘Hail, mentor!’ He looked fairly young, perhaps mid-twenties, but experienced enough.

‘Might I have your name and branch?’ ‘I am Ashraf and come from the Lamet branch.’ ‘Do they not know that this is the Amakh branch’s jurisdiction?’ ‘They know, ma’am, but mentor Darius was concerned with the news on Kosrow.’ ‘And overstepped the Lamet branch’s jurisdiction?’ ‘If that must be your conclusion, then I have no information able to deny it.’

‘I don’t blame you if you’re afraid of me. But worry not, I am just tired of my fellow mentors underestimating me, and overstepping their bounds. This area is the Amakh - my branch’s - jurisdiction, thus I am in charge here.’

‘I understand, ma’am. Do you wish me to leave then? I’m unsure whether my presence will worsen the issue.’ ‘If I’m being honest, I would prefer you remain here. I need as many eyes and ears on Kosrow as possible. If you were joining the race as well, then continue your duties.’ ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

As Ashraf melded into the stands again, her right-hand Yahya threw a few words back at Zubaidah, ‘Huh, one of Darius’ lot?’ She was not well-versed in Hashashin politics, so Zubaidah could neither confirm nor deny, ‘Who might that be?’

‘He’s a master among the Hashashin, even if a bit meddlesome. Once infiltrated Reim behind the Amakh and Saffat branches’ backs, retrieving Parthevian prisoners without anyone knowing - including the Hashashin. He doesn’t like to work with the other mentors at all, even more than your friends at the Isidora branch.’

‘And this is why I wanted to reform the Hashashins…’ ‘Heh, don’t need to say that twice, Sukh. I joined you for that exact reason, you know! Even if we’ve had slow progress there…’ ‘Don’t remind me…’

‘But enough of that, we have a job to complete, don’t we?’ As she entered the stands, Zubaidah laid eyes upon an absolute menagerie of steeds and jockeys, from camels to elephants and bandits to nobles. ‘One that, should we complete it well, might help with our standing amongst the Hashashin!’ Staring at this mess of old and new, Zubaidah wondered how long and hard people had tried to journey here... ‘So let’s give it our all, and all that, hey?’

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It was an unusual but fascinating sight, horses and other mounts parading in the soft afternoon light. Mixed with the thorough-breds were the subdued tones of camels and elephants, each restive and knowing what was about to be required of them. There was a dense crowd around the makeshift race-course, a mixed crowd it seemed; where some were soldiers or merchants, others were jockeys through and through. While the stands were not quite filled to the brim, there were more visitors than Zubauidah had expected, dressed in Reiman and Parthevian colours. At the sound of some brassy horn, however, most visitors moved towards the dusty earth-packed track, winding in and out amidst the colourful mass of onlookers.

Time to take your places! At once, she joined the starting-line, thickened with fur and animals. You’re off when the horn sounds again! She recognised some mounts, from horses to camels, but others were more unusual than anything she had seen before. No rules other than stick to the track! Most were fitted with custom equipment, primed for racing, but she noticed magic tools and weapons in their saddles as well. No direct violence allow but take that as you will! With a sigh, she realised that this would not be any ordinary horse-race.


A long and mellow horn sounded out; roars came from every throat. At once, the barrier was down. They were out and off. Off with a smother of spume and dust. Off for the short and sweet distance. All this preparation, the interest in Kosrow, and troubles with the Kavir - all was brought to a head on this race-course. Sirrush was away first, shining in the sunlight, while Yahya and Ashraf found themselves unable to keep pace. They had all made a clean break from the barrier, but some had overestimated themselves and fallen onto the dirt-track already. Zubaidah had burst into the lead, but could she remain there for much longer?

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Sirrush rushed ahead and cranked the engines to full throttle. Flames scattered the mounts coming from behind, and shielded herself from the heat with a well-placed Directed Defence, but Yahya and Ashraf steeled themselves. Ahraf was unable to keep pace with Sirrush, of course, but his horse Swallow weaved between his rivals into second-place. In front, the race-track was becoming ever more treacherous, with streaks of sodden clay throughout the long back and home-stretch. This favoured Zubaidah; not the fast sprinters Yahya and Ashraf.

As the gap between Sirrush and Swallow widened, a bunch of four closed around the two Hashashins. ‘You got no chance!', yelled one of the riders. Yahya clicked his tongue in irritation; his Bandit was the fastest sprinter there for sure, but she was a sprinter - and not a stayer. As he knew well, there was a lot of luck in a handicap. If a sprinter with a light weight could get away first, she may never be headed till the finish. But others had made a clear break, and Bandit had been caught.


There was a flash of silver, and the four horses around Bandit fell onto the race-track. ‘Huh, I thought there was supposed to be no foul play!’ In the corner of his eye, Yahya caught sight of ball-bearings fall from Ashraf’s hand. ‘All the rules said was no direct violence, and that seems to have held…’ As he turned backwards, Yahya could see the dirt-track was scattered with all manner of obstacles, from brambles to ice-sheets, and many riders had forfeited already. ‘Well, if that’s how it is, then bring it on!’

Ahead of them, Sirrush’s pace was heart-breaking; murderous; terrific. Zubaidah managed her white-hot engines, ensuring that any hopefuls remained at a distance. If any tried their luck, she aimed the flames just past them and scared off their mount. Sirrush was a true-born stayer, able to maintain the same speed for hours, but Zubaidah still needed to stave off the competition. Hurling Sper Dansh across the race-track, she dug a ditch with sustained Directed Defence, hoping to turn away jockeys behind herself. With the race-track cleared, Sirrush could set a pace that would try the stamina and lungs of Pegasus. Indeed, she had already raced the first quarter in record time, breaking the record for the Reiman hippodrome; sent flying to ashes like the dirt-track below. ‘What a pace!’ Second quarter in twenty-four flat. ‘Damn, that horse is going some!’ Another record wiped out, and some more riders with it. ‘What a wonder!’

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As she urged Sirrush onwards, Zubaidah watched the dusk-pink skies follow. Pink was the reddish Kavir; earth and race-track were tinted with the Parthevian sunset. Past the thickets of lotus columns, half-buried beneath Sirrush’ hooves, came the evening shadows. Past the walls that held the makeshift stand, like ribs of some sleeping leviathan, came the tired and broken shadows.


It was not yet night-time, but Zubaidah saw the bone-white moon within his eyes. She looked deeper, however, and there was nothing there; she saw nothing but emptiness. His name might have been Kosrow, but he was not that man whom the Atta and Mansur had admired. He was empty like the starless skies above; a shadow of his former self.

He towered above Zubaidah like some Heliohaptian colossus, stains of wind-swept red upon his cheeks. Even as the Kavir covered him with reddish earth, however, Kosrow stared through the dust and dirt towards the dusk-pink skies. He looked into the heavens, and the starless skies grew darker; with one look, the bystanders grew still and silent. If the stands had once stood as a temple, then they were now dedicated to Kosrow alone.


Zubaidah could not speak nor refuse; all she could do was watch him pass Sirrush. He passed them both without looking back even once, leaving dust-red shadows in his wake. Indeed, as he crossed the finish-line, Zubaidah watched Kosrow fade into the Kavir night…



As she met Ashraf and Yahya afterwards, Zubaidah was received with cheers and applause. All the onlookers were amazed at her efforts against Kosrow, even if they had failed, for nobody had come even close to success like Zubaidah. It was still a failure, however, but Kosrow had engendered in Zubaidah a burning desire to succeed the next time.


‘Didn’t you hear?’ Under the colourful banners, where Ashraf had requested Zubaidah come, Yahya was conversing with a somewhat-familiar jockey. ‘Cos nobody beat him last time, he just left till the next day without a word or anything. Did the same on the first few nights! Guess he doesn’t see a reason to stick around when he’s won and all.’

As she looked around in disappointment, however, Yahya patted Zubaidah on the back and pointed towards the reddened race-track. ‘That means we can just challenge again, right?’ ‘A few have come back, yeah, and gotten beaten again.’ ‘Well, if anyone can beat him, it would be Sukh!' ‘Are you - ’

'I have tired of this place, and will not return.' Kosrow’s voice echoed around the stands. 'I will continue towards Reim instead.' Silence overcame each and every onlooker. 'If you find me again, then my challenge stands.' There was no noise even from the Kavir. 'But once I reach Reim, then you shall all be viewed not as challengers - but enemies.' Kosrow’s voice faded into the desert…

And a violent storm of voices and shouts erupted within the stands.

Amidst the confusion, however, Zubaidah took Ashraf and Yahya aside. ‘Report back to the Lamet branch at once and inform them that Kosrow has been deemed a high-level threat.’ ‘Understood, ma’am.’ With a small bow, Ashraf began packing his Hashashin equipment onto Swallow. ‘How should the Amakh branch act? If he has left the Kavir towards Reim, where will Kosrow head?’ As they readied Sirrush and Bandit as well, Zubaidah answered Yahya without delay. ‘He will head towards the Urkadi river…’