Arslan Senki

The man of the silver mask nodded, but it seemed to be partly a formality, and partly out of reflex. Soon enough, the silver mask took his leave, and the elder opened the small leather purse the man had left on the table and counted the dinars within. Perhaps they were of no particular concern, for he dumped the dinars unceremoniously in a drawer of his desk, grumbling and muttering to himself.

“Best to just think of that fellow as coin. In order to revive Serpent King Zahhak, all the vast lands of Pars must be covered in fresh blood. All shall be prey to Lord Zahhak; I care not one whit whom shall be king of Pars…”

The elder raised a hand and pulled on a cord dangling from the ceiling. A picture drawn upon aged sheepskin unfurled against the wall.

Displayed before the elder was the portrait of a crowned man with a dark face and red eyes. Assuming an entirely different persona from when he had faced the man of the silver mask, the elder bowed with utmost respect.

“My lord and master Zahhak, please wait just a little longer. Night and day your servant here strives for his master’s second advent…”

Surely there were none in this land who did not know the name of Serpent King Zahhak. Save for newborn babes, that is. That was the name of an ancient ruler of the world, a most cruel and demonic king. By him had Sage King Jamshid been sawed alive, the pieces of his body tossed into the sea, all his wealth and power stolen.

From Zahhak’s two shoulders sprouted a pair of black snakes. This was the origin of his “Serpent King” epithet. These two snakes feasted on human brains; during Zahhak’s reign, two subjects were killed each day, whether noble wuzurgan or lowly ghulam, and their brains were fed to the serpents. This reign of terror lasted for a thousand years unbroken; the world fell into ruin; people were born into the world fettered by fear, and went to their deaths encircled by collars of despair. Forty such generations passed before the rule of the Serpent King came to an end. Thus began the royal dynasty of Pars —

With a worshipful gaze, the elder watched for some time over the two black snakes pictured crooking their heads from Zahhak’s shoulders. Then, with great labor, his emaciated body stirred, floundering in the cold air like a bizarre deep-sea fish. Before long, his lips cracked open like a fissured boulder.

“Gurgin.”

The elder called urgently for someone.

“Gurgin!”

“Yes, Master, here do I await.”

The replying voice flowed forth from a dark corner of the room, but the figure of the respondent could not be seen. However, the elder did not seem to care either, and ordered rather impatiently, “Summon thy other six men at once! Since Atropatene, the deaths of soldiers and civilians have together totaled one million, but it is not enough. The Parsian populace numbers twenty million; if the blood of at least half that is not drunk by the earth, the second advent of our lord and master Zahhak shall lie beyond our power.”

“Immediately?”

“As quickly as possible.”

“… Certainly. Master’s wish is my command.”

The voice faded swiftly, evaporating like particles into the air. For a while the elder stood there without a word, but his eyes and mouth betrayed a sinister delight.

“A curse upon all who obstruct the glory of Serpent King Zahhak…”