When the dark night fell like malicious Ahriman, the blare of war-horns and the clatter of bells rose from the royal court. Prince Esfandiyar mounted his noble charger, holding a forged Indian blade, his heart ablaze with vengeance. Alongside him rode his valiant sons—Nush-Azhar, Bahman, and Mehr-Nush—guided by Jamasp, the wise minister of Goshtasp. As the warriors rode out from the fortress into the open plains, Esfandiyar turned his eyes toward the heavens and lifted his voice in prayer to the Sovereign Judge of the universe.
With a heart steeped in sorrow for his wounded brother Farshidvard, he swore a solemn vow before God: should he triumph over Arjasp, avenge the murder of King Lohrasp, and claim retribution for his thirty-eight slain brothers whose blood had dyed the desert sands crimson, he would harbor no grudge against his father for his wrongful imprisonment. Instead, he promised to construct a hundred new fire-temples, eradicate tyranny, dig a hundred thousand water wells across the arid waste, build a hundred caravanserais for travelers, turn the lost toward the holy faith, and shatter the dark sorceries of the world.
Turning his steed, Esfandiyar rushed to the side of his dying brother Farshidvard. He found him bathed in blood within his armor. Bitter tears poured from the champion's eyes as he pledged to tear down whoever had wrought this horror, whether lion or leopard. Farshidvard faintly replied that the true origin of their doom lay in Goshtasp's foolish act of fettering Esfandiyar and in the slanderous tongue of Gorazm. Had Esfandiyar been free, the Turanian hordes would never have dared invade Balkh, nor would ancient Lohrasp have fallen. With his final breath, Farshidvard urged his brother to remain a fruitful tree in the world, to remember him with deeds of charity, and then closed his eyes forever.
Overwhelmed by grief, Esfandiyar tore his garments. Having no bricks, mortar, or tools on the battlefield to construct a proper stone tomb, he bound his brother's corpse onto his steed, carried him to a high mountain, wrapped him in his own turban and garments as a shroud, and laid him to rest beneath a shady tree. He then rode to the desolate field where Goshtasp's host had been shattered. He wept over the fallen Iranian heroes until his gaze met the pale corpse of Gorazm the traitor, lying amidst the dirt near his fallen horse.
Esfandiyar stood over Gorazm's corpse and reflected on the ancient proverb: 'A wise enemy is better than a foolish friend.' He declared that Gorazm's deceit had brought ruin upon the realm and condemned his own soul to eternal torment. Drying his tears, Esfandiyar spurred his warhorse toward the deep trench surrounding the Turanian camp. Clearing the wide moat, he charged single-handedly into the eighty-man advance guard of the Turanian army, smiting many with his blade as he forced his way toward King Goshtasp.