The brass balls struck the bronze goblets atop the war-elephants, sending a thunderous clamor for leagues across mountain and plain. A vast resurrection surged from Zabulistan, as though the dormant earth had been commanded to awaken. At the vanguard of this limitless host rode the youthful champion Rostam, flanked by veteran heroes and battle-hardened elders of Iran. The military power swelled across every meadow, valley, and ridge so densely that no crow could find space to fly overhead. War-drums beat simultaneously at sixty positions, shaking the very foundations of the earth as Zal led his armies forth in the blossom-scented tide of spring.
When news of Zal’s mobilization reached Afrasiab, all peace, sleep, and appetite abandoned the Turanian prince. He hastily marched his host to the lush meadows of Khwar-e Rey, a land abundant with water and reeds. From the opposite side, the Iranian forces poured continuously through the desert routes until a mere two leagues separated the opposing camps.
Seeing the vast armaments ready for clash, the commander Zal summoned the wise elders and battle-tested chieftains of Iran. He addressed them with resolute gravity: 'O noble sages and world-experienced champions! I have marshaled this grand host seeking glory and triumph for Iran, yet counsel is scattered without a crowned monarch upon the throne, and an army without a head is aimless in its deeds. When the blessed King Zou sat upon the throne, world-praise arose anew. Now, we urgently require a king of Kayanid stock to bind his waist upon the Kayani throne—for just as a human body cannot live without a head, Iran cannot endure without a king. The Mobad has revealed to me the lineage of a prince endowed with divine grace and youthful fortune: Kay Qubad, of the seed of Fereydun, possessed of glorious stature, supreme wisdom, and justice!'