by Baloch, Fuad
Men were shouting at each other. Two score wearing loincloths waved swords and pikes. A plump, bald man stood in front, his loincloth a bright purple. A merchant, Shoki knew, having seen his kind in Algaria. A dozen mercenaries in their leather vests and flowing trousers stood behind them, their swords unleashed, but otherwise looking grim. They all faced a score of soldiers, decked in plate armor and iron helmets. Zakhanan soldiers.
Shoki narrowed his eye, catching snippets of their shouting. They spoke a familiar language, yet one he struggled to make full sense of. Gharsi, or a much purer version than he was used to.
Hooves rode behind him. “Turn around,” hissed Salar Ihagra.
Before Shoki could, one of the Zakhanan soldiers raised his head toward them. His eyes widened in terror. “Istani!”
“We need to get away!” the salar shouted.
Time froze. He had a choice. Turn around and flee, hopefully outrunning the Zakhanan forces. Or, he could fight his way through.
A baser instinct stirred in his chest. The need to feel. The need for a man to prove to himself and others that he was still in charge of his faculties.
Shoki roared, then unsheathing the sword buckled on his saddle, jumped off the horse and strode toward the soldiers.
Chapter 7
Aboor
Aboor crossed his legs, wincing at the ever-present pain in his left thigh. Even as the other inquisitors argued loudly, he forced his thoughts on the pain, refusing to let it feel tolerated within his body. Decades had passed, but he wouldn't be cowed by it. Not now, not ever.
“We need to keep hunting them,” argued Inquisitor Channa, the almost-seven-feet-tall man easily towering over the sea of gray turbans even as he remained seated. He turned toward Riyan Hambur, leader of the Kalb Inquisition, who was scowling at the head of the long rectangular table. “The abominations are the one common enemy that binds us all together, and we can’t turn away from that.”
“Hear, hear,” shouted the two inquisitors sitting beside the giant inquisitor.
Aboor rolled his eyes, adjusting his legs to find a better angle. Bright sunlight flooded the room through the vast open windows to their left. Far in the distance, he could see a sandstorm brewing, the stunted trees swaying as if being tickled by an invisible giant. A good thing he wasn't traveling for once. Still, Aboor longed to be outside. Anywhere but this stuffy room full of crusty old fools who saw the world as it had been, not what it had become. He, too, wanted a return to tradition. But there had to be a better way than trying methods that continued to fail.
“For now,” the inquisitor to Channa’s right said, “both the Reratish and the Zakhanan allow us freedom of movement. Before that changes, we need to deliver a killing blow to all magi who refuse us.”
“They’re too strong,” muttered Aboor through his bushy mustache. No one seemed to hear him. Not that it would have mattered. Ever since they had found the entirely ineffectual Riyan, the inquisitors as a group had turned into sheep, herded from one pen to the other, bleating all the while.
“The prophet himself gave us the mandate,” declared Channa. “We have to fulfill it.”
“Aye,” agreed his lackeys.
“The end days are coming,” Channa declared, his bass voice reverberating along the table, “and we cannot let the abominations free in these trying days.”
“Mountain’s breath,” Aboor grumbled. Was there no end to religious hysteria? Did he have to put up with merchants of gloom and doom within the inquisitors as well as those on the streets?
Riyan Hambur grimaced, patting errant whiskers on his upper lip. Ever the dandy, the man seemed neither willing nor capable of ignoring the trivial, even at this critical juncture of their history. Aboor swallowed the heady mix of anger and envy churning in his gut. The cursed man might be too young to be the leader of such an illustrious organization as theirs, but nothing changed that fact that he was their leader. And no matter what Aboor thought of the injustice of it all, the unfairness, a life spent in the army hammering in the need to obey one’s superiors left him feeling a morsel of guilt for the dark feelings he harbored toward Riyan.
“I…” Riyan muttered, a respectful silence falling as he shook his head, “am not… certain on what we can do in these circumstances.”
A plump inquisitor at the far end of the table cleared his throat. His eyes had a glassy feel to them, his stubby fingers covered in gold rings. “Perhaps it’s time to take an honest look at where we are. The magi have grown so bold as to fight each other openly, fearing us not a bit. This isn’t confined to just the continent. My spies report similar grumblings in Kur’sh and Fojoro. Even Xin, too. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the change of fortunes, accept the facts, and—”
Aboor had had enough. He thumped the table, drawing the attention of the two elderly inquisitors opposite him who had been snoring softly. “Istan lies in ruins! Any of you been to Algaria recently? The city has been raped a thousand different ways by the eastern swamp flies who wouldn’t have dared look us in the eye a year ago.” He paused, sucking in air through gritted teeth to calm his nerves. “Our honor demands we strive for the restoration of the great balance.” Another pause. “The scales won’t be balanced fretting over the small weights surrounding the hundredweight in the center.” He rubbed his hands. “Tactics. That’s what we need. After all, to balance, one need not only take weight away, but also consider adding more.”
The dozen inquisitors had fallen silent, all of them glaring at him. The air in the cramped inn they had commandeered from the obliging innkeeper felt stuffy, stifling. Aboor shrugged, massaging his left knee once more. When would this damned pain recognize it wasn’t wanted, that it would be vanquished eventually, and just move on?
“What do you propose, Inquisitor Aboor?” asked Riyan Hambur, quirking an eyebrow, his fingers twitching.
Aboor met his glare evenly. “To rid the hundredweight, to kill the snake, we need to strike its head. Afrasiab. That’s who we need to target at all costs. Take him down and we re-establish our rightful place as champions against rogue magi. This has more advantages. Broken Istan armies can draw strength from our victory, redouble their efforts against the invaders. And we can push back against the djinn who broke the compact and joined the fights of men.”
The silence spread, none of the inquisitors meeting his challenging gaze. Not even the leader of the Kalb.
Pathetic.
Channa made an odd noise in his throat, then raised his chin. “We’ve heard about your methods, Aboor. Hardly… orthodox, I say. Not quite what the prophet advocated.”
Aboor smirked. “Honor and pragmatism go hand in hand, but like the two banks of a river, need never meet.”
Once more, no one replied.
“By most accounts, Afrasiab is in the east,” Aboor continued, his thick voice falling on fearful ears. “In or around Sehlour in Zakhanan territory. Why?” He stood, swallowing the pain that shot up his leg to the rump. “Why is one of the most powerful and notorious magi in all of history, one who has fought generations of inquisitors, huddled up in the swamps after his victory at the Battle of Buzdar? Why did he capture the Istani princess? Why have we not seen the djinn who fought beside him again?” His voice grew quiet. “This silence… cannot be ignored.”
“With all due respect,” said a dark-skinned inquisitor to his right, rubbing her temples—a woman Aboor didn’t recall seeing before, “it’s the view of many people that a clutch of vile magi are behind this… this rumor concerning Afrasiab and the djinn at the Battle of Buzdar.” She rubbed the back of her neck, pushing back the folds of her gray turban. “After all, the man has been dead for centuries, and who’d know what he looked like today? And the djinn?” She shrugged. “The pact commands them to stay away from the human lands. Apart from their alleged sightings at Buzdar, they’ve not been seen anywhere else. Now, we can’t let mere hearsay and rumors—”
“I was there!” Aboor cut in. “I saw Afrasiab with my own eyes. Saw hi
m raise the Istani princess to the sky, members of his vile kin flying beside him. And I saw the djinn…” He shivered, seeing the nightmarish figures again. “They were here, the djinn, in the human world. In their true, twisted forms. They have broken the pact, and they fight against the powers of good.”
The inquisitors shuffled, exchanged nervous glances. Some looked out the window at the deserted landscape. None challenged his assertion.
“How are we to fight this… Afrasiab?” demanded Riyan. “If what’s been rumored is indeed true, he has artifacts of great power looted from our castles. He’s joined by magi who have broken their chains…” He trailed away as if unsure of the point he was trying to make yet finding himself obligated to continue. Aboor slumped into his chair. “Perhaps, we need to strike an alliance with the Reratish and Zakhanan governments. See if we can pool our strength together for the greater threat? Use… all means possible to… to balance the scales…”
Inquisitor Channa rose, a giant looking down at ants. He spat to the side. “The inquisitors answer to the Keeper of the Divide, the sultan of Istan. We cannot legitimize the usurpers for some short-term gain.”
Shouts spread in support. Riyan nodded weakly, spreading his hands in meek submission.
“We are not the puppets of dead Istani sultans,” said Aboor, glaring at the assembled inquisitors. Disdain for them spread in his chest. How low had his stock fallen to be left with these cowardly, narrow-minded simpletons? “We are driven by honor and tradition, true, but even more so by our purpose. What’s our purpose? Keep the human lands, without caring for who controls them, free of the threats that magi pose to the society. That is what we need to focus on. Destroy the rot from the top, and the magi will come crawling back to us.”
The elderly inquisitor in front nodded. None raised their voice to join his though.
“So, you propose to fight all magi?” asked Riyan, righting his turban. “All magi, like we’ve been doing for the past few months?”
Aboor wanted to scream in frustration. They kept talking in circles, the lot of them, not allowing nuance to come within a dozen yards. They heard what they wanted to hear, finding areas of commonalities like drowning men clutching at sodden straws, yet ignoring all they disagreed with.
“Give me inquisitors, Sahib Inquisitor,” said Aboor. “And I will hunt down Afrasiab. Once he is severed from his well, the scales will start tipping toward a balance.”
At that, more inquisitors turned away from him. The one beside him coughed, raised his empty mug to his lips, staring at the table as if bewitched by the pattern of the woodgrain.
“We don’t have the inquisitors to spare,” said Riyan. “Even if Afrasiab is back, we have no real confirmation he’s indeed in the east, do we?”
They were afraid, these inquisitors. Lions and tigers fearful of the deer who’d learned petty tricks like masking their essences from their hunters, grown bold by tall tales of what one of their own had done to the combined might of Istan and Reratish. It made them no less vulnerable once they were located though. Aboor clenched his fists, leaning forward. “Can we really afford to wait and see what he’s up to? Do we want another Battle of Buzdar?”
Riyan fidgeted with the ends of his rich, green silk tunic, refusing to meet his questioning eyes. Even the giant inquisitor watched his fingernails. Camels and donkeys brayed outside the inn, no doubt feeling the onset of the sandstorm.
“Is it true that the far east is seeing a blight?” murmured the inquisitor beside Channa. “They say demons of old are prowling the lands of Kippur and Zersia.”
No one acknowledged him. Not even Channa.
Aboor stood again. “We made a promise when we joined the inquisition. A promise to keep these lands free from the abominations.” His voice shook. “It’s time to keep them!” Grimacing, he collapsed back to his chair.
“I find myself in agreement with you, Inquisitor,” said the woman inquisitor, turning toward Riyan whose gaze kept bouncing from one surface to the next. Aboor blinked in surprise. “We are not the subjects of either the Reratish or Zakhanan, nor of the nations separated by the great oceans. Nor are we, strictly speaking, commanded to obey only the Istani line even if they were our early benefactors. Boil all tradition and custom away, and it does come down to this: resist the magi. All of them.”
Aboor inhaled deeply. Hardly what he’d expected from the woman. He hadn’t met her before, but he was beginning to like her. He racked his memory. Women inquisitors weren't that common, and he had heard of one who seemed to match this one’s force of personality. Inquisitor… Puhana?
“What do you suggest?” Riyan asked.
“I’d like to build on Inquisitor Aboor’s suggestion. We need to recruit an army,” she said, a thin smile spreading on her lips. “Carve out a land of our own. Pure and pristine. Free from all influences. Magi. The invaders.” She paused for effect. “The Istani sultans.”
A nervous murmur went up around the room. Aboor steepled his fingers. Once more, they continued to ignore his suggestions, twisting his words for their own agendas. Why had he even opened his mouth? Mountain’s breath, why was he even wasting his time in these worthless political games?
“We are powerless against the magi,” complained the inquisitor beside Puhana. A middle-aged man, his thin hair spilling from underneath his turban. “Without their blood, we cannot sever them.”
“Yes, we can,” said Puhana, turning her eyes to Aboor. “We will fight them, but we need to start by shunning methods that aren’t working. Instead of working alone, like we could have when we still had their blood, we form multiple squads of seventeen inquisitors. All on the hunt for rogue magi. One by one, we will catch them unawares, sever them, and grow our power and prestige.”
Aboor considered her words thoughtfully. She was devious, her intent too radical for his liking, but what she said could work for him too. Early and frequent successes would bolster his argument. A fact she was acutely aware of as she continued to look at him. In a room full of sniveling cowards, the two of them could get what they both wanted.
“That’s a great idea,” Aboor said, flashing Puhana a false grin before anyone could raise any objections. “I volunteer to take a squad east. With my knowledge of the terrain—learned though leading soldiers across battlefields,” he added, staring pointedly at Riyan, “I stand a good chance at carrying out our holy duty.”
“Lots of rogue magi activity there,” Puhana nodded, not waiting for Riyan to offer his thoughts. “That would work.”
The other inquisitors found their tongues. “I’ll lead a squad west, toward Buzdar,” said an inquisitor beside Riyan.
“—the north-west needs—”
“—into Algaria itself—”
“—lead an expedition to Polino and Fojoro—”
Aboor smiled, forcing himself to relax. They were finally beginning to see what needed to be done. Perhaps, it didn't matter how they all got there, so long as they did.
“What of striking an alliance with the magi?”
Aboor blinked.
“Blasphemy!” growled one of the inquisitors.
Aboor turned toward the far end of the table. The speaker was a young inquisitor, sitting beside Inquisitor Puhana. No more than thirty-five, with the smug, self-satisfied smile of the young. Puhana was nodding beatifically at him. “A group of them reached out to me last week. They’ve broken away from the rest. Far from joining their kin’s evil ways, they harken for the old path too. We can use them to guide our path!”
“Nonsense,” said Riyan, finally managing to get a word in. “The inquisitors are placed over the magi by Rabb. We do not speak or interact with them except as benevolent masters toward their slaves.”
“Agreed,” snapped Aboor. “Besides, what good is a compliant magus over a severed magus?”
The grin didn't fade from the young inquisitor’s face. Puhana was still nodding as if urging him to go on. “As a show of faith, they’ve offered us something of great value.
A boon that will help us greatly.”
“What?” demanded Aboor.
Inquisitor Puhana replied instead. “You used to be a patedar in the army, Inquisitor. If the enemy of your enemy offered you a weapon, would you turn it down just on principle?”
Aboor gritted his teeth. He had been pulled into the cursed woman’s web, only realizing it belatedly. Did he have any wriggle room? Puhana was smiling at him. If he turned her down, the little momentum they’d built together would be lost, the inquisitors breaking into disagreements once more.
Squeezing the table with both his hands, he leaned forward. “Do tell.”
Chapter 8
Shoki
Salar Ihagra was shouting at him to stop. Shoki didn’t care, stomping forward, sword held high. The Zakhanan soldiers carried maces—the east’s preferred weapon—and were heavily armored, but they were retreating as if surprised by the sudden appearance of Istani soldiers. Their salars shouted at them in their thick dialects to hold their line. The merchants and the mercenaries looked equally shocked, exchanging nervous glances, the air filling with the ringing of swords and shields.
Salar Ihagra burst past Shoki, his sword pointed at the Zakhanan salar. “Let us pass and no harm shall fall upon you.”
The Zakhanan salar’s eyes narrowed, then he spat to the side, shouldering his mace. “Infidels in the Holy Land!” He raised his other hand. “Men, defend your homeland against the scourge of the heathens. Gather your resolve and send them all to hell!”
The Zakhanan soldiers roared, no longer retreating.
One of them sprang forward, sprinting toward Shoki, his mace held up high. Shoki snarled just as the ground trembled, lurching and seesawing even as he remained standing. Luckily, the moment passed, crashing him back into the real world.
Gnashing his teeth, Shoki stepped forward, finding no fear in his heart. Salar Ihagra tried to come between him and the Zakhanan soldier, but Shoki shoved him to the side. A stride away from Shoki, the Zakhanan soldier stepped into a puddle, his foot catching onto something and twisting. Shrieking, he lurched sideways, his spare arm flying up to help with his balance. Shoki got to him first. Roaring, he sunk his sword deep into the man’s chest, finding little resistance under the thin leather armor.