The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  Tiamat leered closer. Then perhaps I shall spare you and it, and make you both part of my court. Drag you out to read, to entertain us all when the whim strikes. One of her tentacles reached out, stroking the new patch of reptilian skin on his shoulder. Down here, you should last a millennium or so if we keep replacing parts.

  Ali tried not to shudder. “I—”

  The marid mother didn’t let him finish. The tentacle slapped him roughly, and then her laughter boomed again, cruel and mocking. But that is not what you want, Alizayd al Qahtani. You want to go home to your people and be a great hero. To grow old with your daeva family and the Nahid you love without ever thinking of the marid again.

  There was no denial he could make. Tiamat had seen into his mind, and Ali didn’t think she’d appreciate him lying.

  “Yes,” he confessed.

  A spray of water destroyed the chest of books, striking it so violently that pages and bindings went flying, their ink instantly coloring the water. The liquid rushed to him, winding up his legs.

  So why have you not mentioned your most worthy offering?

  Ali trembled, watching the ruined pages float away. The abrupt annihilation of something so priceless shook him to his core. “I have nothing else.”

  But you do.

  And there, with another burst of water, was Fiza.

  The shafit captain was unconscious, her braids and clothing in disarray. A nasty gash split her cheek, and one eye was blackened. But she was alive, her chest rising and falling with her breath.

  Ali lunged forward. “Fiza!”

  Give her to me in our way, Tiamat urged. Cut her throat in my name, and she’ll be reborn as one of my fighters, she said, gesturing to the stone army. Once a century I grant one freedom when we gather to watch them battle. A woman with a touch of daeva blood should be a fascinating addition.

  Ali recoiled. “Never.”

  Then perhaps I shall let the sea crush her and give you to my fighters. Though it hardly seems fair—a man with the power of fire and water against poor, bewitched humans.

  There was a cruel eagerness in the way she said the words that sent apprehension dancing down his spine. Tiamat had seen inside his head. She knew Ali was not going to murder an innocent friend, let alone do it while chanting some sea demon’s name.

  So what was she after?

  “Do it,” Sobek warned. “You have nothing else to give her.”

  “I don’t need your opinion on murder,” Ali snapped back, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice. He had a sudden, almost violent need to have Nahri at his side. She would have been able to figure out what Tiamat wanted. Cutting a deal was what she had begged him to do.

  Tiamat was laughing. So ungrateful to your progenitor.

  Ali swallowed hard. “There must be some way we can help each other. I am allied with the Banu Nahida. Perhaps we can negotiate the return of the lake—”

  Tiamat chuckled and then dropped to his level so fast that Ali jumped. Her gleaming skull was the size of a hill, her jagged teeth longer than he was tall.

  Beyond, more marid were coming. They’d pressed forward at the mention of the lake, bright eyes flashing.

  Tiamat didn’t seem as intrigued. Why barter with daeva over an old lake when I have the entire ocean? No, mortal, I was awakened to deal with you and Sobek, and so I shall. You wish to preserve the life of yourself and your friend and travel the currents to save your home. Sobek, you are alone, yearning to rejoin us. What if there was a way to settle all of this?

  At Ali’s side, Sobek stilled. “You said my exile was permanent. That if I communed with another, you would stop the waters that feed my river and make me watch my land die.”

  And now I offer you a chance at forgiveness, to prove your affection for these creatures has faded.

  “His affection?” Ali repeated. “He lured generations of my ancestors astray, and when they refused to betray their people, he devoured them!”

  Tiamat grinned. See what your spawn thinks of you, Sobek? They will never be grateful, never loyal.

  Sobek glared, perhaps his own temper catching. A marid whose natural form was a crocodile likely had a short one. “I warned you to run,” he growled to Ali. “I might have carved that seal from your heart. I might have let the marid of the monsoon drive you insane.”

  Tiamat was licking her teeth. Chaos, she craved. Entertainment.

  Surely in an age where the humans have forgotten us, we only need one lord of the river of salt and gold. Tiamat moved back from the arguing pair, knocking over the top level of a ziggurat to lounge upon the drowned city. She gazed at them with her ghastly eyes. May the victor be rewarded with my grace.

  The victor. Ali glanced again at the field of stone soldiers. At the arena. Surely she wasn’t suggesting …

  Don’t be reckless, Nahri had warned.

  Ali made a motion of peace. “Wait, let’s just—”

  Sobek lunged at him.

  ANY HOPES ALI MIGHT HAVE ENTERTAINED OF SOBEK’S mercy vanished the moment the Nile marid smashed into his chest. They fell to the ground, and Ali threw up his arms to protect his face. Sobek raked them with his claws, and then went for Ali’s throat.

  Tiamat was indeed going to get her entertainment.

  He thrust his shoulder into the underside of Sobek’s snout—the Nile marid was all crocodile now, and three times bigger than his unfortunate descendant—just as Sobek’s jagged teeth grazed his neck. Ali reached out, seizing his jaws and fighting with both hands to keep the marid’s mouth shut.

  “Oh, you’re angry?” Ali accused as they wrestled. “Bastard.” He grunted. “Do you know how hard it is to be worse than my father?”

  Sobek rolled in response, spinning and crushing Ali beneath the water. Tiamat was cackling beyond the splashing waves and grappling fighters.

  I need my weapons. Ali didn’t think he had much chance against Sobek either way, but he was definitely not going to defeat the millennia-old lord of the river of salt and gold with his bare hands.

  Ali kicked out, sending the nearest stone warriors tumbling. A man in a toga, a laurel wreath in his hair and a tortured expression on his face, toppled over Sobek with a thud, pinning his tail. Taking advantage of the moment of distraction, Ali dashed away.

  He lunged for the ruined wall, but Sobek caught him. His teeth closed over Ali’s ankle and yanked him back. Ali cried out in pain, but he was already reaching for his zulfiqar.

  “Brighten!”

  Flames burst down the blade, provoking hisses and whistles and clicks from the crowd of watching marid. Ali swung it at Sobek’s head but kept the poisoned flames from making direct contact with him, still reluctant to kill his ancestor.

  “Let me go. Sobek, please, for the love of—” Ali screamed as Sobek’s jaws clamped tighter. The crocodile was pulling him into deeper water, thrashing and shaking him as though to rip his very leg off.

  Oh, God, it hurt. It hurt so much, and yet the marid’s viciousness was the reminder Ali needed. He would see no mercy here.

  So he would show none in kind. Ali lashed out with his zulfiqar and scorched a blazing line of fire across Sobek’s eyes.

  The marid bellowed, letting go enough for Ali to pull his leg free and scramble backward on his elbows as blood blossomed from his savaged ankle, staining the teal water. Sobek was writhing on the sand. Blood poured from him as well, lines of poison snaking out from his ruined eyes in delicate, deadly tendrils.

  And then they stopped. Ali watched, frozen with horror, as the zulfiqar’s poison started to reverse, Sobek’s eyes stitching back together …

  Ali shot to his feet and fled.

  His maimed leg burned in protest, pain shooting through his ankle each time his foot hit the ground. Ali ran anyway. He’d just had a taste of the brutal death Sobek intended to deliver to him, and Ali would run from it for as long as he could, putting as much distance as possible between the two of them.

  Think, al Qahtani, think! Ali dashed up a set o
f stairs, vaulting over a stone wall. Beyond was a maze of smaller buildings, a warren of bare structures that must once have been tightly packed homes and workshops. Half ruined, it was more labyrinth now than anything else.

  It would have to work. Still gripping his zulfiqar and knife, though keeping the flames doused for now, Ali fled among the buildings.

  Darkness crept over him as he took the turns at random, going deeper into the city. How did one kill a creature like Sobek, an ancient predator who healed as fast as a Nahid—better than a Nahid? Someone more powerful than Ali would ever be?

  Someone overly powerful. Someone so used to winning and crowing over lesser mortals that they underestimated them. Ali’s long-ago fight with Darayavahoush came back to him—their first one, the sparring match Ali had very nearly won until he’d stepped back, unwilling to put a khanjar through the throat of his father’s guest, and the Afshin had responded by hurling a wall of weapons at his head.

  Ali wouldn’t make that mistake again. He glanced around at the ruins, all soldier now, the warrior who’d been trained to outthink his enemies.

  And by the time Sobek came through, silent as the grave, Ali was ready.

  He watched from upon a broken roof, high enough that the breeze wouldn’t carry his scent. Stripped down to his waist-wrap, Ali was cold, but he didn’t allow himself to shiver, didn’t allow himself to breathe as he tossed a broken brick into the room where he’d left his blood-soaked dishdasha—the scent he’d let the marid hunt. Sobek lunged into the room with a snarl.

  Ali leapt from the roof and landed on his back.

  The marid was fast, but Ali was prepared, slamming the crocodile’s head down, looping his weapons belt around Sobek’s snout and binding it shut. The marid bucked and twisted as Ali smashed the hilt of his zulfiqar into the back of his skull, but it was like beating a rock.

  Sobek started to transform. Ali’s strikes gained more purchase as Sobek shifted, blood bursting from his softer, more humanoid neck. But in his other form, the marid would have the hands he needed to rip the belt off his face, seize Ali, and strangle him to death. Ali had the advantage, but only for another moment.

  Kill him. Kill him, you idealistic fool. Cut off his head, spear his heart. He would kill you. He’s going to kill you!

  Sobek fought, slipping around so that Ali was facing him. It was a unwise move. He’d be able to grab Ali once he got his hands free, but right now it exposed the pale underside of his throat.

  KILL HIM! It was Tiamat, bloodlust in her voice.

  His ancestor struggled to wrench himself free. Ali plunged his knife into one of Sobek’s hands, pinning it to the ground, and the marid bellowed in pain.

  Sobek deserved to die. He’d slaughtered innocents for centuries. His marid cousins had tortured Ali in the lake and stolen him away when his people needed him most. He saw again his mother’s despair as she sent him to his doom. He heard Nahri begging him to find a way back.

  What was Sobek in comparison? A monster. A murderer. A demon from an age of ignorance and brutality that Ali’s had rightfully stomped out.

  Tiamat was laughing. Beyond, the other marid waited, their alien gazes unreadable.

  Sobek’s eerie yellow eyes met his. Ali saw himself reflected in the black sliver of pupil—he looked young. Terrified.

  The Nile marid stared at him. His arms had been transforming, his claws reaching for Ali’s wrists …

  And then, so slightly that only Ali would have noticed, Sobek stilled.

  A trick. It had to be a trick. Ali was shaking, the hilt of his zulfiqar slick with blood. He could bring it down. One strike, and Tiamat would give him everything he needed to save his people. To be a hero. To get his revenge.

  Ali howled in frustration. And then he threw his zulfiqar away, rolled off the ancestor he couldn’t kill, and stood to face Tiamat.

  She had already dropped down to snarl at him. Weak little mortal! Does your fiery heart ache with affection? Do you miss your murdered father? Think Sobek will stand in his place?

  Ali glared at her, several responses rising to his tongue. He could declare that these murderous entertainments were evil. That he wouldn’t kill a bound man. That Tiamat was a monster. A demon.

  The crowd of marid were still watching. They’d seen the memories of the naive youth they probably assumed was about to stand up for righteousness and promptly be devoured.

  And Ali had seen them. Wailing as Anahid bound them. Sacrificing their strength to send Sobek away so that he might find a way to save them all.

  Ali fixed a cold gaze on Tiamat. “So is this what you’ve been doing all this time?” He gestured between himself and Sobek, then nodded at the stone army. “While your children have been chased from their sacred lake, forced to toil for Nahids, and submit to their champion’s terrors, you’ve been playing with toys in the mud?”

  Tiamat hissed, a rush of fetid air and saliva nearly knocking him out. Maybe I’ll toss you back to this so-called champion.

  “I would welcome it. Better to fight than cower down here.” Ali turned to face the crowd of marid. “You all judge Sobek, and yet at least he did something! Where are the mighty marid I grew up fearing? You claim you could devour my land, build a throne from the bones of my enemies, and yet you shrink from this Afshin?”

  A figure emerged, what looked like a drowned man reduced to shell-encrusted bone, with weeds wrapped around his skull. You do not understand his power and his viciousness. He murdered one of my acolytes, an innocent human, just to get my attention. He boiled my lake, slaughtering its creatures, and threatened to do the same to all our waters!

  “So let’s find a way to stop him. We should be helping one another rather than wasting time on these games. Would you give up your freedom to travel the world, to tend to your own streams and lakes in favor of staying here … with your mother,” Ali added delicately, “forever?”

  A visible shudder went through the group.

  Tiamat lashed the ground with her tail, shaking them all. You are fools to listen to him. He is daeva, heart and soul, and all they do is lie. He is more likely to throw himself at this champion’s feet and lead him to your waters. She jutted her head. Ask Sobek what happened last time he trusted a daeva.

  Sobek had climbed back to his feet, shifting to his other form and tearing Ali’s belt from his mouth. Ali wasn’t sure what had happened back there, if Sobek had meant to give up, but his ancestor still looked very capable of murder.

  His words, though, were measured. “My kinsman speaks truly. He is ally to the youngest Nahid, and I have protection ties to her family. If there was ever time to make a pact with them, it is now.” Sobek paused. “Or perhaps I could visit my river’s mouth and see if the great mother who swims in the northern sea wishes to help.”

  Tiamat started to growl, but Ali interceded. He might not be an unkillable warrior or capable of transforming into a crocodile, but stoking political dissent in the name of justice?

  They were playing his game now.

  “Let me and my friend return,” he implored. “Sobek may accompany us and teach me how to swim the currents. I will get you your lake back and find a way to remove the daevas who threaten you. Come now,” he added when Tiamat’s eyes churned faster, “surely I am more use to your people up there than as a flicker of entertainment down here.”

  The marid were murmuring and chittering, the water growing tumultuous.

  Sobek stepped closer. “We desire another way, Tiamat. I do not need to commune with my kin to see that. I will take him.”

  Tiamat had drawn up, sneering. You will not. Not until he pays a price. You wish to speak for the marid, mortal? To be our voice when you are too frightened to confess the slightest connection? You speak to my children of their loss, a loss of which you know nothing?

  “I will listen to them,” Ali promised. “I swear. I—”

  That is not how we do things. Tiamat gazed down with her terrible visage. You wish us to trust you, to open our sacred cur
rents, though you intend to dwell with your daevas? Then I will make it so you never forget your obligation. So none will forget it.

  Apprehension darted down his back. “What do you mean?”

  You will give your name to me truly. And then I will drain every last bit of fire from your blood.

  Ali’s stomach flipped. “I don’t understand.”

  “It means she will take your fire magic.” Sobek turned to face him. “All of it. You will belong more to us than the daevas.”

  Ali’s mind abruptly went blank. You will belong more to us than the daevas. His gaze fell upon his zulfiqar, the thrill he’d felt at finally enflaming it going cold.

  But it wasn’t just his zulfiqar. It was everything. The flames he’d taught Nahri to conjure, the magic that allowed him to pass through Daevabad’s veil, the heat in his hands he’d use to boil a cup of coffee. Half their traditions revolved around fire, their world revolved around fire magic. It’s why losing it brought their society to a standstill.

  And his would be gone.

  Ali’s mouth went dry. “Forever?”

  “Yes,” Sobek replied softly. “You must understand, it will affect everything about you. Your life. Your mind. Your appearance.”

  My appearance. It was stupid that such a thing made his heart skip in fear, but there it was. Ali saw how cleverly Tiamat had trapped him. She knew how he felt about the marid. Knew how his people felt about them. There would be no careful diplomacy, no masking the marid’s involvement as Ali’s ancestors had done—or even slowly revealing it when the dust settled, if indeed this won him their victory.

  Come back to me, Nahri had made him promise. Ali closed his eyes, seeing the anguish on her face when he’d begged her to cut the seal from his heart. Seeing Fiza’s defiance when she’d insisted on accompanying him. Muntadhir’s grim determination when he stayed behind to fight, and the quiet bravery with which Anas had accepted martyrdom. All the prices others had paid.

  Daevabad comes first. One of the few lessons his father had taught that Ali still honored.