Jemshēd

Seeing the faithful old war hound, Darkness, lying in his usual spot outside his father's bedchamber door, Jem slowed his headlong rush that had outpaced the following guard. Only as he drew near did he notice, in the hallways's flickering torchlight, the dark pool spreading across the floor from the animal's neck. Recognizing its source, he panicked again, the sword in his right hand momentarily forgotten. He flung his massive frame bodily at the door. It splintered, giving way with a crash that reverberated along the corridors. By the night light's dim glow he could see, supine on his bed, the still form of Tahmoures, Shahanshah, King of Kings, supreme ruler of Persia. A dark shape bent over him. To Jem, the figure seemed at least his equal in height, but much broader. It leaned forward slightly as if unable to stand fully upright. The head was massive and ugly. By the dim light he could see the thick brow-ridges below a large, flattened, elongated skull with receding skull with receding jaw. The chest was a huge barrel, he upper arms disproportionately long, the short forearms and enorrmous hands reaced almost to his slightly bent knees. The whole appearance suggested vast physical strength. With a deep hiss the creature turned in his direction. The blunt fingers, tipped with nails sharpened like talons, reached for him. Jem momentarily felt fear with the realization he was facing a daeva. “Holy Ormuzd, help me,” he said aloud. As if in resonse, a shimmering multi-hued aura just for a moment seemed to flicker about him and his sword. The daeva halted in apparent surprise. In that moment Jem felt as if he had the strength of a dozen. Enraged, and rearful of wha the apparition may have done to his father, Jem flung himself at te creature without thought for his own safety. With all his might he swung a backhand stroke that connected with the demon's thick neck, severing its head in one blow. It fell, rolling across the floor as the body slumped, withering and shrinking as he watched. Something that looked like black smoke emanaged from the disjoined neck. By the time the body lay on the floor it was a mere husk that dissipated too into the faour already heading for the open window. Jem chased it, wildly but ineffectually slashing his sword through the mist. He halted at the window as it vanished into the night sky. Still fearful, he ran back to the bed and his father's still form. “Father,” he called, repeating the word more louddly when there was no response. Bending over him, Jem gazed fearfully at the familiar scarred face. “Can you hear me?” Reaching out with his left hand, his fingers gently pressed on the Shah's neck, feeling for the carotid artery's pulse as Sepid had taught him. Noting its insubstantial flutter, a frightened look showed on his face as he turned to the guard now standing inside the doorway. “Find the Queen and the Vizier and ask them to come. Hurry. Then go to Sepid's room and bring him here quickly.” Saluting, the guard turned to run out the door, almost tripping over the hound's body in his haste. Jem turned again to his father. He bent over the iron-whiskered form, listening for his breath. The shallow airflow was barely discernible. “No, Father, noQ Wake up,” he shouted. In his desperate fear, with his left hand he delivered a resounding thump to the centre of his father's chest. After a moment's stillness, the Shahanshah drew a shuddering breath. Jem saw the pulse in his father's neck give two quick beats before starting a strong normal rhythm again. Tahmoures' eyelids fluttered before opening fully. “Jem, what are you doing here?” The Shah spoke slowly, his speech slurred as if he was still half asleep. “Father, something was trying to kill you. It got Darkness.” Something?” The voice was stronger now. “Yes. It was a daeva, I think. I cut off its head, but its body turned to smoke and disappeared out the window.” Failing to notice the sudden look of surprise on his father's face, he gestured towards the opening, where curtains still swayed in the night breeze. The prince took two paces forward and reached for the creature's head where it still lay. “Don't touch it!” The sharp order caused Jem to pause and look at his father. Why?” That's the head of Arzang, one of Ahriman's almost immortal lieutenants. I fought him when we defeated the daevas. Look at his eyes, they're still open. While they are, Ahriman can use his powers to see through them even though the creature is dead.” Tahmoures spoke urgently. “Get a heavy cloth and wrap it. We must burn it before Ahriman has a chance to regenerate him from it.” “Regenerate?” As he spoke, Jem snatched up a brocade rug rom the bed, securely wrapping the grisly trophy. “Yes, son. Ahriman and his lieutenants are magicians of the Elder Race. They've learned how to become almost immortal. Unless we stop it, Ahriman can make the body revivify from its skull. The only way to stop him is to burn the head, sift the ashes and cast the to the winds.” A wondering thought occurred to Jem. “Father, if they're immortal, how did you ever defeat Ahriman's army?” The Shah's face was grim. “Ahriman can regenerate only those of his people with strong magical powers. The rest are just as mortal as we are, though generally longer-lived.”