The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  Shoki didn't reply, turning his attention to the other nineteen members of the two delegations. Ten magi, just as Salar Ihagra had mentioned, wearing long-flowing robes, sitting away to the left. Seven males, three females, all wearing the customary black turbans. Subconsciously, Shoki ran his fingers through his loose hair. He frowned, squinting at the headgear. Not the simple turbans he was used to seeing. These were embellished, their ends decorated with lace and colorful frills.

  An old man, probably in his eighth decade, shuffled forward from the opposite side, his long, thick beard falling down to his chest. Before Shoki had had time to look at his features, the man fell on his knees, wailing.

  “What—” Shoki started just as the other members of his delegation went down on their knees as well. Jinan scoffed, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Blessed is the name of Rabb, our Lord, the Unseen God, creator of all the worlds and races,” the old man chanted, his eyes squeezed shut, palms of both hands pressing hard into each other. “He promised the return of the light, and that is indeed what he has done. A duty passed down generations, a sacred secret held hidden for hundreds of years… And now, finally, the blessed time has arrived. Oh lord almighty, we thank you profusely.”

  Shoki motioned them all to get up. “Rise.”

  The delegation did, albeit with great reluctance.

  “You were this little when I last saw you, Rising Sun,” the old man groveled. He thumped his weak chest. “I, Chahar Rahane, never thought I’d be the first one to welcome you to your true station in life, and now the spectacle leaves me utterly speechless.”

  “You k-knew me?” Shoki asked, his heart suddenly beating hard. “How?”

  Chahar Rahane spread his hands, fingers covered with glittering rings, grinning even as tears streamed down his face. “This humble servant of yours entrusted your care personally to the man you thought your father. They were a good family, the husband and wife, barren but blessed with hearts of gold. We believed they’d take care of you and serve you well.” He beamed. “And what a great job they did, indeed! Sacrificing all they had for your sake, treating you like their own, even when they couldn’t even give you their last name.”

  Memory of his father and mother, or those he had so regarded all his life, flashed before him. Father beaming with pride as he returned with Salar Ihagra after his first day as a member of the city guard. His mother’s eyes gleaming as she talked of possible matches for him. They’d known the truth all along, but never shared it with him. Shoki bottled up the emotions before they could take hold of him. “W-who are my real parents? Are they… are they still alive?”

  “Alas,” Chahar replied, shaking his head. “The Iron Usurper got to them eventually. He might have gotten weak in his later years, but his spies never tired of hunting for your family.”

  Shoki blinked. “The Iron Sultan had them… hunted?”

  Chahar dropped his chin, members of his delegation following suit as well. Confusion reigned in Shoki’s mind, a dark wind billowing. The man he had thought beyond reproach, the very symbol of unity and virtue of the realm, had had his true parents murdered? He wanted to disagree, to shout his denials, but what did he really know of how power played out in the imperial courts?

  “What’s done is behind us, Rising Sun,” said Chahar, taking a respectful step forward, his head still bowed. “These terrible times must end. When you take back your crown, re-establish your court, the invaders will once more cower in front of our might.”

  One of the magi from the opposite delegation, a tall man with gaunt cheeks stepped forward. “Need I remind the Nawab of Awdh that the number of enemies facing us all is vast and even greater enemies await our justice?”

  “Of course not, Sahib Magus,” replied Chahar, his voice strained. “You helped us find the Rising Sun, and for that we shall remain in your debt forever.”

  Shoki exhaled, crossing his arms. The tent was large enough for them all to sit down and still have enough space between them, but for some reason they were all standing. Even the magi.

  “What do you seek from me, magus?” Shoki asked.

  “I’m Sawan Terberg,” said the magus, pointing at his black turban trimmed with silver. “Representative of the Selhani school of magi, and—”

  “Selhani school?” interrupted Shoki. “What does that even mean?”

  “We are seventy-five Zyadi magi,” replied Sawan carefully. “All of a certain persuasion.” He pointed at the women. “They represent the Merhan school for Jaman magi.”

  Shoki nodded at them. So, rumors were indeed true, with magi forming formal collectives based on their affinities. “What is it that I can offer you?”

  “You aren’t just the long-lost heir to the Malik line of kings,” said Sawan, waving a hand toward the old nawab standing deferentially, “but also the only Ajeeb magus we know of. Well, apart from Afrasiab and Naila.” Awan inhaled deeply. “The inquisitors are forming an army. A formal, standing army. Even now, their leader, Riyan, is negotiating with the Zakhanan empire to gain a patch of land where they will answer to no law. They are mustering strength to come after us.”

  “And how exactly does that concern us, Sahib Magus?” Camsh asked, his loud voice behind Shoki startling him. When had he entered the tent? He wasn’t alone either—Salar Ihagra stood behind the magi, a shadow lurking to the sides. Camsh placed a gentle hand over Shoki’s arm as if to reassure him that he was there to take these awful necessitations out of Shoki’s hands. “You do know that my sahib has a mission of his own.”

  The magus scowled, raising a hand to quiet the other magi who had begun muttering. “Your sahib is a magus, isn’t he? And if news is true that his well has returned, his mission would never be safe from the inquisitors. Surely, that’s something even you can see, a risk you can appreciate cannot be ignored.”

  “They speak the truth,” declared Jinan, his voice gruff, hard. “After the Battle of Buzdar, I made for Kohkam with those who survived the massacre. Ranal Poolani the Fat remains safely cocooned in his walls, but even he was of the opinion that the realm faces as much threat from external forces as it does from the ongoing conflict between magi and inquisitors.” A menacing expression crept onto his face as he waved a hand toward Chahar. From the corner of his eye, Shoki saw Salar Ihagra tense, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Mind you, I might have agreed to help these people find you, but I do not buy these ridiculous claims of you being the rightful claimant to the Peacock Throne. I fought for Nuraya Istan, daughter of the Iron Sultan, and I shall never stop fighting for her right.”

  “She’s dead, more than likely,” Chahar said dismissively. Shoki’s eye darted at the old man. “For all we know, she was in bed with that Afrasiab all along! Doesn’t matter though. By Rabb, when we—”

  “She sacrificed everything she had for the sake of this realm,” Shoki cut in, venom dripping from his cold voice. “And I am not going to stand here listening to anyone allege otherwise.”

  “As you say,” Chahar replied after a brief delay. “You know best.”

  I don’t! Shoki wanted to shout but bit his tongue. He turned toward Sawan and the other magi standing beside him. “I have to know. Do you… feel this corruption as well when you reach for your wells?”

  The magi exchanged glances, none of them offering an answer. An answer in itself.

  Shoki turned around. Through a gap in the tent, he could see soldiers marching in twos and threes. Camsh was right. All of these people in the tent, and those outside, wanted different things from him. But he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that he, too, demanded something in return from them.

  “I need an army,” Shoki replied. “United under one purpose. Answerable to me.”

  “Of course, oh, Rising Sun. This will be—”

  “Call me Shoki, or… if that doesn’t work, Sahib Shoki,” he cut in tersely.

  “Very well,” Chahar replied, sounding suitably chastened, “Rising Sun.”

  “So,
you agree to support our cause against the inquisitors?” demanded Sawan.

  “Now, that’s not what Sahib Shoki just said!” argued Camsh. “He just set down his condition for any future alliance, and we expect you to honor that.” Shoki offered a grateful smile. He hadn’t had the chance to sit down with the grand vizier’s son and discuss his plans, but Camsh seemed to know exactly what to say.

  Sawan opened his jaw but Camsh cut in. “It’s been a long, tiring day, undoubtedly for you all. It’s been doubly so for us. The men are still tired after our hard march, still recovering from the dozen successful battles against Zakhanan forces in their lands,” Camsh lied smoothly. “Pray, do relay our wishes to your fellows and hasten with your replies.”

  “But—” started Sawan.

  “All matters of logistics and organization will be handled by me, so direct them to no one else to ensure speedy compliance.” Camsh pointed at the tent flaps. “If you’ll follow me, I’d like to take you through some of the processes to streamline our lines of communication and agree on next actions.”

  Without waiting to see if anyone followed, Camsh turned around and exited the tent. Salar Ihagra remained until the tent had emptied, then, he too exited without a word.

  Shoki smiled once more. He was tired, though he hadn’t even realized that until Camsh had mentioned it.

  By the gods, he wished he was doing the right thing. For the right purpose.

  A part of him, one he’d been struggling to keep quiet, wondered once more why Afrasiab was keeping this quiet. And who was that figure he’d had a peek at, surrounded by the barrier, out at Sehlour?

  Chapter 23

  Aboor

  Aboor watched the dancing flames with the usual mix of dread and wonder as the debate raged on around him in the tavern. When he’d led his men through the breach at Kohkam—the castle that was meant to be impregnable, an event that increasingly few knew about anymore much to his regret—he’d expected to be riddled with arrows, for the sea of blades to find his body. Instead, the defenders atop the walls had upended pots of burning oil on them, followed by burning bales of hay.

  Two of his jawans had caught fire before they’d even realized what was happening.

  That was the first time he’d really felt terror. A monster that ripped through to one’s heart, and never, ever let go. He shook his head, finding a hint of amusement that the inn was called The Prancing Flame. A name better suited for attracting djinn patrons than inquisitors like himself. His stomach turned at the thought of djinn, beings of ash and fire, prowling the human lands. One more ancient pact that had been broken.

  He raised a hand and twirled the ends of his mustache, glad for his knee not throbbing with pain tonight. If only he could say the same thing about the headache that had been growing for the past two hours.

  “—a menagerie,” Kadoon declared, thumping the desk with his flagon of local beer, his shadow spreading out to the window looking out at the dark land beyond. “That’s what a collection of animals makes. Not a school, no matter what these misguided magi might want to believe otherwise!” The other three inquisitors who sat at Aboor’s table grunted their approval. Aboor shook his head. Distant relative of Puhana or not, men like Kadoon never got ahead in an institution like the Kalb which required its highest members to have a certain… savvy about them. Simpletons, even righteous ones, burned themselves out far too quickly, thankfully.

  How did that explain Riyan?

  Aboor grimaced, reached down, and adjusted his chafing balls.

  “You refer to us as animals,” said Yasir, his voice cold, devoid of the usual uncertainty that had been worrying Aboor of late. “Yet, you sit with us on the same table, confer with us using the common tongue, rely on intelligence that we provide.”

  “A mistake!” Kadoon growled. He raised his eyes toward Aboor as if to make his point abundantly clear. Aboor met his eyes squarely. The younger man blanched and looked away.

  “Indeed,” muttered Uasan, raising his mug. He and three other inquisitors stood on the third table set aside for them. The six inquisitors and the three magi were the only patrons of the tavern tonight. If locals did frequent this establishment, they were all keeping away.

  Not a terribly bad idea by Aboor’s reckoning. The image of the stubborn and unyielding inquisitor of the Kalb was one they had all tried hard to establish. If people feared the inquisitors, the magi did doubly so, in turn making their jobs that much easier. Witnessing the arguing that went on between the magi and inquisitors, or worse the bickering that inquisitors got into behind close walls, would have shattered the carefully cultivated illusions.

  “You were lucky we ran into that magus girl,” said Kadoon. “Or I’d have been the first to sever you for the crime of sitting beside us!”

  “Kadoon, do not forget our place,” Aboor said, unable to hold his tongue. “There’s a difference between a butcher and a savage. The cattle might not love the butcher, but he serves a purpose for the wider public, providing a service that benefits the masses. The latter, though, takes life for no purpose.” Aboor grew quiet. Did the rich, spoiled aristocrat even know what a butcher did? Had he ever deigned to visit the local markets of his town?

  Yasir coughed, his lazy eyes finding Aboor’s face. If he had any issue with Aboor’s analogy, he at least had the foresight to keep those to himself. Something that suited Aboor just fine.

  “As you say, Sahib Inquisitor,” Kadoon growled. He raised the mug once more to his lips, then finding it empty, thumped it on the table. “Innkeeper, why is my mug empty?”

  Aboor narrowed his eyes.

  The innkeeper shuffled forward, his eyes downcast, a pitcher of the brown stuff unsteady in his hands. He leaned forward and refilled Kadoon’s mug. The inquisitors beside him grunted and he filled their mugs as well. When he tried to approach Aboor, he shook his head.

  “I pray all success to Inquisitor Puhana. The day will come when we’ll have no need for dogs to help us with our obligations. Oh, imagine a land of ours! An army of ours!” Kadoon puffed his chest. “Beware the day when no sympathizer of the magi would find succor!”

  Aboor chuckled. “Son, somehow I doubt you’d last more than a week in that army if placed under my command. Dogs who bark the loudest, whimper the loudest too.” The inquisitors at his table laughed. Even Uasan grinned. Only the two inquisitors beside Kadoon kept quiet, waiting for his reaction. For his part, the young man burped, then buried his face once more in the beer.

  Aboor waited for a breath but it seemed a drunken silence had fallen upon his lot. Now that he reflected on it, no sounds floated up from the dark streets outside either. Cababad was a mining town, and it seemed the citizens had all retired for the evening, leaving the inquisitors unattended as they stayed up late at night.

  “Yasir,” Aboor said, waving a hand at the magus to get his attention. “That was good work at the tavern. Couldn’t have done that without you.” Even as Kadoon scoffed, the inquisitors at Aboor’s table nodded.

  “Didn’t do anything to help you,” Yasir said slowly, his eyelids twitching. “More out of fear of what’s waiting for us all on the other side.”

  “And exactly what’s that, huh?” Kadoon challenged. “You’re no different from your rogue brethren. Sooner or later, you, too, will join their ranks against us. Armed with knowledge of our ways, you’d make a formidable source of information, wouldn't you?”

  Aboor raised his hand. “Enough, boy! If you don’t control your tongue with drink in your belly, you’re going to get some practice sleeping outside in the stables!”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  Aboor leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. “Try me!”

  Kadoon retreated, a mouse seeing the tomcat it had no hope of bettering.

  Aboor turned back toward Yasir who was watching his fingernails. The magus wore a thick silver ring with a large black stone. Onyx, perhaps. An old ache stirred in Aboor’s chest, one he hadn’t felt in ages. Was the magus married, or was th
at ring a remnant of some relationship long gone? He gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to dwell on all that had gone wrong between him and Bamna. “That magus girl had two wells, Yasir.” Aboor paused, waiting to draw attention. The inquisitors looked up at him. They’d all known what the girl magus had done at the tavern, but they’d been hesitant to discuss the matter. Pride of the young who thought themselves weaker for sharing their fears.

  Aboor exhaled. “How did that happen?”

  Yasir shrugged. “If I knew how that was possible, I would have found my other well already.”

  “Did they have some Akbar artifact stolen from our castles?” Uasan suggested. “After all, Jalna was far from the only castle the magi looted.”

  “No,” replied Aboor just as Yasir shook his head as well. “I would have known if her power was augmented through an artifact. The artifacts drain quickly and all work differently. The girl knew what she was doing and did that with a great deal of expertise.”

  “She wore the stole of her school,” Yasir said, still watching his fingernails. “Ask them how that was possible.”

  “Schools again!” muttered Kadoon.

  This time, even Aboor had trouble rebuffing the young inquisitor. He twirled his mustache once more, his mind racing through with the consequences of all he’d seen. “Perhaps, we do need to engage with these schools.” Uasan and Kadoon jerked their head toward them but he ignored them. “Uasan, send a letter to our esteemed leader first thing tomorrow morning, and suggest it might be worthwhile initiating an exploratory dialog with the magi. We might have more to gain more though knowledge than fighting.”

  “Aye, Sahib Inquisitor.”

  “The magi are not the problem,” Yasir said. “You’re not addressing the actual threat.”

  “We are!” Aboor replied. “At the crack of dawn, we’ll be off east once more. This magus of yours isn't going to escape the divine punishment set aside for his crimes.”