The march continued.
Days turned into weeks, and the Persian army, like a tired but resolute river, retreated deep into its own territory.
On the surface, everything pointed to a collapsing army.
But in Kourosh's mobile command tent, which was pitched every night in the heart of the camp, an awake and restless mind was weaving the invisible threads of victory.
He had not been idle during this long retreat.
Every report from his spies confirming that Azhidahak was swallowing the bait with arrogance and carelessness made his resolve to flawlessly execute the next parts of his plan even firmer.
One night, while the camp rested in the heavy silence of the mountains, Kourosh picked up two scrolls of his finest paper.
The time had come to send two key messages; messages that were to prepare the two wings of the Persian eagle for its final flight.
He first dipped the pen in ink to write to his mother, Mandane.
This was not a son's letter to his mother; it was a commander's order to his most important and trusted secret general.
He knew that the success of the psychological part of the "Pasargadae Trap" depended on his mother's powerful hands.
He wrote in the New Persian script:
"My dearest mother, I hope this message reaches you in complete health."
"The enemy has fallen for our deception and is pursuing us with all his might. As we predicted, pride has blinded his eyes."
"The final battle will take place on the plain of Pasargadae."
"But for victory, we need something more than swords and spears."
"We need the spirit of Pars, and you are the beating heart of this spirit."
He went on to explain the detailed, pre-designed plan for the cry of the Pasargadaean women.
"At the appointed moment, when our army is in a final tactical retreat towards the city walls, you must appear on the walls with all the brave and influential women of Pasargadae."
"This must not be a wail of fear; it must be a roar of anger and honor."
"You must accuse our men of cowardice and flight."
"You must reproach them and call on them to return and fight for their honor."
"This cry will be the signal for our counter-attack and will raise the morale of our army to its peak at the crucial moment."
"This must be done with the utmost secrecy. Everyone must believe that this is a spontaneous act born of desperation. I have faith in your intelligence and wisdom."
After sealing the first scroll, he picked up the pen to write the second message.
This message was destined for the Shahbaz Valley, for Garshasp and his engineers.
The tone of this letter was no longer one of full respect; it was a short, precise, and urgent military tone.
He knew that the physical success of his trap depended on the roar of his secret weapons.
"To Garshasp, great master of iron."
"Our time is limited. The enemy is advancing faster than we predicted."
"What is the status of the ballista construction?"
He continued with emphasis:
"I have faith in your calculations, but now is the time for speed, not perfection."
"At any cost, at least five of them must be ready and transported there with the utmost secrecy by the time we reach Pasargadae."
"Choose the mountain paths. Move at night. No one must know of the existence of these giants."
At the end of the letter, he wrote a sentence that summarized the entire weight of the war:
"The fate of this battle depends not only on the courage of my soldiers, but on the roar of your thunder."
"Do not disappoint us."
He sealed this scroll with care as well.
Then he summoned two of his swiftest and most loyal messengers, who were always ready near his tent.
One was a seasoned rider with a mountain horse for the long journey to Anshan.
And the other, a young and swift runner for the shorter but more arduous path to the Shahbaz Valley.
Kourosh entrusted the two fateful scrolls into their hands.
He looked into the eyes of both and said with a calm but firm voice:
"Your lives, my life, and the life of all of Pars depend on the delivery of these messages."
"Nothing—not the enemy, not fatigue, not even death—must stop you."
"Go!"
The two messengers gave a short bow and, silent as two phantoms, disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Kourosh stared after them for a moment.
He had planted the seeds of victory.
And now, he only had to buy enough time with his intelligent retreat for them to bear fruit.