The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  His thoughts drifted to his camp. To his followers.

  Jinan had returned, and had already begun butting heads with Salar Ihagra. The mercenary salar might have lost some of the madness that had crept into him after the Battle of Algaria, but he remained just as intense, still acting as if he were the siphsalar of this small force instead of Salar Ihagra. He’d come in with Chahar Rahane, Nawab of Awdh—a man who never ceased reminding everyone of the sacrifices he’d make for the Malik line—but now acted as if he’d always been traveling with Shoki. Another man who time had touched and left unrecognizable.

  Shoki continued to gallop, grateful the well-bred beast was somehow able to follow the winding highway without throwing him off. The highways in the east were in a much better shape than those in the west. Something to do with the number of religious convoys that took these paths to visit the holy cities in Zakhanan and Kippur. A fact that had ironically eased the Zakhanan forces’ movements.

  The road was deserted. Shoki stood up on his stirrups, holding onto the saddle with both hands. The day wasn’t sweltering hot, nor was the wind too chilly. Even the sun was peeking out of the clouds for the moment. His scouts had reported five thousand soldiers riding through this road a couple of days ago, but when he looked about, he saw no evidence of their passage. How many trade convoys were heading for this patch of road this very moment? How many more armies and militiamen and bands of mercenaries?

  Perhaps they were all hunkering down for the winter. Those who were still alive, wanting to keep it that way, even if it meant lying low for the season. Some animals did that in the far north, if he recalled correctly. Gorging throughout the year, only to sleep it all off during the harsh months of winter.

  He slumped back into the saddle, his thoughts racing quicker than the panting horse. He was play-acting for his men, putting up the facade of one who knew what he wanted them to do. He couldn’t keep doing it forever though. Even as the magi and the nawab’s delegations continued to bicker and argue with Camsh on terms, far too fine and boring for him to bother himself with, he’d have to weigh in sooner or later. Sometimes, to make alliances, he was learning, one had to break some.

  They all wanted to pull him in different directions. Trouble was, he was still unsure himself. The more he had thought it over, the continued silence of Afrasiab was worrying him more than anything else. It seemed ancient monsters were prowling outside the castle at Sehlour, sometimes even venturing out and attacking passersby.

  A band of five hundred wouldn’t be strong against an enemy that had faced an army twenty times its size at Buzdar and come out on top. And thus, he needed numbers. An alliance would give him that.

  He couldn’t shake the doubts though. What if Sehlour was all a massive distraction? A massive pot of honey set in the open to attract opportunistic bees? A trap inviting him to walk into willingly?

  But what if Nuraya was indeed captured in there?

  “Gods’ guts!” Shoki grunted, slapping his thigh.

  There were other choices, increasingly difficult to dismiss.

  Maybe Chahar Rahane was right, and he needed to move for the capital? Settle affairs at home before stretching himself thin?

  Or, as Sawan Terberg, the magus, continued to remind him, maybe there was more to gain by uniting the warring factions of the magi, neuter the inquisitor threat, and proceed from there?

  Or, perhaps Salar Ihagra’s initial suggestion of taking small, meaningful steps like reaching out to mercenaries and building up strength before venturing forward was the right approach?

  Had Jiza been speaking to him, no doubt, she’d have her own ideas on what he ought to be doing as well.

  Shoki scowled. After the Battle of Buzdar, he hadn’t had many choices, and his objective had been clear. Ride like the wind to Sehlour and wrestle Nuraya free. Now that he had more options, paradoxically he had less freedom to pick one.

  What ought he do?

  Shoki pursed his lips, lifting his right hand to scratch his chin, a deep weight settling into his gut. What would these Malik ancestors of his have done, had they been in his stead?

  He had another advantage as well now, apart from his name. His well. Even if it felt and behaved differently, it was a great boon regardless.

  Guilt rose, spread in his chest. All this time he was wasting, continuing to debate with himself and others, was a lost opportunity where he should have been rushing toward Nuraya.

  The horse snorted, shaking its head. Shoki exhaled and pulled on the reins to slow down to a canter. They were miles out of the camp now, in the middle of nowhere as far as Shoki could tell. But hopefully, the beast knew how to take them back.

  His mind drifted once more. To the void. The nothingness. The one thing that continued to plague his thoughts. Was there nothing he could do to remove the taint that had crept into magic itself? Was there a way to discover and neuter those magi who were serving that darkness?

  Visions rose from his fight with the queen mother. He’d seen the Divide, witnessed the pari folk convulsing, thrashing against the weakening walls between the worlds. He had stopped them, or so he had thought. Was he, and the world, seeing the ramifications of that fight? Was Afrasiab their punishment?

  Afrasiab, again. Why had he disappeared from view?

  Shoki bit his lower lip. There was something he wasn’t seeing right. The magus was plotting, this much he knew intuitively, but what? Why would he draw this much attention to himself, letting the world know his whereabouts, then do nothing?

  Far too many questions. Far too many choices.

  Still brooding, Shoki emerged out of the dense trees into a vast plain. Rice paddies to one side, wheat fields to his right, spread out as far as his eye could see. The Imperial Highway straightened and cut through a large village a mile or so ahead. Shoki pulled on his reins, allowing his senses to get used to the bucolic surroundings. Life outside of central Istan was a lush, green affair, the reminders still managing to surprise him.

  Behind him, he heard shouts and curses accompanied by neighing horses. Shoki didn't turn around. As far as he was concerned, he was still alone. But when he got back, he’d have to have a word with Camsh, remind him that he expected his wishes to be obeyed. Chahar Rahane’s face floated up. Shoki needed to have a talk with the nawab as well. The ingratiating nobleman still refused to address him as anything but the Rising Sun, continuing to attract smirks from Jinan. That couldn’t go on.

  His gaze fell on a group of dozen villagers gathered around a large tree that had collapsed on the highway, blocking it. Shoki cocked his head to the side. A thick grove of coconut and betel nut trees stood to their left. Maybe a storm had blown over the night before, felling one of the trees.

  Nodding to himself, Shoki spurred his horse and approached the villagers.

  The air was still cool, carrying a hint of morning damp so common to the east. He filled his lungs with the refreshing air, willing it to calm his fears. His anxiety didn't subside completely, but it did lessen somewhat.

  The men stepped away from the tree when Shoki got closer. They wore loincloths and round, circular hats, two of them sporting tight, scrunched up turbans the color of tilled soil. The oldest of them, a wizened man, his back bent with age, stepped forward, placing a hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun. “Who—” He trailed away as the others around him gasped. “The one-eyed…”

  Shoki grimaced. Yes, news of his arrival had preceded him here as well. He stopped a dozen steps from the gaping peasants and jumped off the horse, pointedly ignoring the fingers being raised to point at other riders behind him. They knew him, but was that as the one-eyed usurper, or the monster that had broken Algaria’s defenses?

  “The tree fell?” he asked, pointing with his chin.

  The old man coughed, then, placing both hands on his hips, glared at him. “Your second eye stopped seeing as well?”

  Shoki blinked, then smiled. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Hmm,” the old man grunt
ed. He scratched the pock-marked, rough skin of his face. “A storm blew over last night. A terrible one. Never seen one inland this strong all my life living here. And that is a long time indeed, I tell you. Why, I bet I was sprinting about, even before your parents were a twinkle in their parents’ eyes.”

  “Jahal…” warned an old man beside the wizened figure.

  “Oh of course, where are my manners?” Jahal exclaimed. “Are you tired? Thirsty? We’ve still got some of the stew we can share with you.”

  Shoki shook his head, touched by the old man’s generosity. “Would you like help in moving it away?”

  Jahal took a sideway step, squinting at the soldiers behind Shoki, then gestured at the old man beside him. “Son, what do you think?”

  Shoki blinked as the man Jahal had called his son removed his round hat and scratched his bald crown. “Even these extra hands might not be enough to move the tree.”

  Shoki turned his head around. Four soldiers stood a dozen yards behind him. All of them dropped their gazes. He turned to look at the tree again. As Jahal’s son had said, he, too, doubted they’d be able to move the tree by themselves. The trunk was ancient, almost as wide as a horse standing sideways, almost as tall as a camel. He couldn't even begin to imagine how heavy something like that would be. Two score or more men would be required to roll it away, or a dozen loggers chopping at it for a good day or two.

  “Send for your cousins and their broods,” Jahal ordered his son. “And oh, tell that useless nizam of ours to send every last soldier meant to be keeping an eye out for us. Time for them to finally earn their keep.”

  “Wait,” Shoki said. He licked his lips as he examined the tree. A great barrier, but of no great concern for a magus who had brought down ancient stone walls weighing a thousand times more.

  “You got something on your mind?” Jahal inquired. “If so, better get on with it. I haven't got all day.”

  Shoki rubbed his palms together. When was the last time he’d used his magical abilities for good? This was the perfect opportunity.

  He closed his eye and tried to seize jadu. His fingers brushed the cool surface, his nerves tingling with the contact, but he didn't feel the power coursing through him. Whispers and murmurs rose around him, distracting and off-putting. Shoki put up a hand up to drown out the voices.

  The well eluded him.

  The realization flashed. He’d learned his lesson at the cemetery. Power needed to find him instead of the other way around. He let go of his grasping fingers, standing still as a supplicant, his soul ready to receive his well.

  Power thrummed into him, filling him with the otherworldly view of the essences of objects around him. The tallest essence stood where the wizened man had been in the center. Taller, wider, greater than everyone else’s. The towering figure shifted, offering Shoki glimpses of the old man’s resolve and strength of character. Dark shadows crisscrossed Jahal’s being, cutting through the pure blobs of energy.

  Shoki threw up a hand to shoo them off, then stumbled back as the shadows turned toward him.

  “… cannot let them do that to me as well…” someone was muttering, the voice sending shivers down his spine.

  The shadows stilled for a moment, then breaking into a frenzied dance, dove toward the peasants standing beside Jahal.

  The madness! The taint of magic! Is this what it is?

  Knowing he shouldn't linger in this world any longer than he had to, Shoki approached the fallen tree. More than a dozen essences and purposes dueled with each other. The tree’s will to standing upright was still strong, undimmed by the winds that had finally managed to uproot it. The dozens of birds who had made their nests and homes throughout its vast branches wailed, crying out to him for help.

  “… the pari folk will pay…”

  Shoki shook his head to clear his mind. An act that carried no true meaning in this state of being but one that anchored him to a certain extent.

  He reached for the ground underneath the fallen tree. It longed to return to its former unblemished state of crushed and paved stone, of being unburdened by the massive weight bearing down onto it. Shoki looked around. Ajeeb magic was all about exchanging and balancing competing energies. Both the tree and the road wished for a return to their past. One wish was easier to fulfill than the other.

  Shoki paused. The fallen tree was dying, the last of its life draining from where its roots had held it to the ground all these decades. Was it possible for him to give that life back? Bring back the… dead?

  His heart thudding, the world pressing in on him, he examined the essences around him.

  Life throbbed within the living. Could he leech some of it, and gift the residue to the fallen tree?

  The voice at the back of his mind shouted at him. He didn't ignore it but didn’t shun his line of thinking either.

  The shadows returned, assimilating into each other to form a disk of blackness.

  Shoki ignored that too.

  Death was an essence as well, now that he really looked at the tree. Expanding even as he watched it, something he could reach out to.

  Was it something he could touch?

  He reached for the fading life of the tree.

  It slipped through his grasp.

  Shoki tried once more and failed.

  A dense fog settled on him, blinding him for a moment. The darkness laughed, a million shards of smoke stabbing him.

  He willed the fog away and tried to reach for the essence of death instead.

  He failed at that too.

  Shoki frowned, examining the tree from a holistic perspective. All objects, depending on when they were examined, reflected essences dominant at the moment. The tree, much like a human’s thoughts, contained an almost infinite number of essences, each important in its own right, most hiding behind the few that outshone the rest. But just because they were harder to locate, didn't make them any less important.

  He needed to get through to the essences hiding beneath the obvious ones. But to get there, he needed something to help bridge the gap, guide his aim, help him understand the potential of an object based on all its component parts. An instrument.

  An artifact.

  Shoki gasped.

  Was that how blood magic rituals worked? Using artifacts, like the Hejar stone, to highlight the most latent of essences, then replacing those with stronger ones leeched from elsewhere, changing the object itself in question?

  Replacing death with life.

  Extinction with evolution.

  Banishment to admittance.

  The darkness that had been gathering in front of him suddenly exploded, shooting arrows of smoke everywhere.

  “No!” Shoki shouted, knowing in that instant that he had spent far too much time already in this world. All magi had limitations, his being a loss of control the more time he spent here.

  His hold over the jadu sight slipped, time slowing down, the arrows using his power to strike at objects around him.

  “… will find Nuraya once more and…”

  Shoki struggled to regain control.

  The spell broke and he crashed into the brightly lit day beside the fallen tree. A day filled with shouting and wails and cries.

  Shoki staggered back, a hand rising to his mouth, even before his eye fell on the villagers.

  Jahal lay crumpled beside the tree, blood spouting from a dozen wounds in his sides. His son was wounded as well, blood leaking from his ribs, but he sat up, shouting at his father to get up. Two more villagers beside them were writhing, life escaping their limbs.

  Shoki had done that. He’d lost control to the darkness.

  He choked, tried to raise a hand. There had to be something he could do.

  Jahal’s eyes found him, narrowing, twitching, the gaze losing its intensity.

  Shoki turned around and ran.

  Chapter 26

  Aboor

  Aboor limped to the nizam’s office, the bloody sword clutched in his right hand, his clothes drenche
d in blood and gory bits of men. Kadoon trudged beside him, snarling like an animal, his robes tattered, blood seeping from a dozen shallow wounds.

  Dawn was still a few hours away, but a few of Cababad’s locals were out on the streets. They clutched each other by the arm, retreating when their eyes fell on the inquisitors.

  “Where is he?” Aboor bellowed as two of the nizam’s guards ran over to block their path, their clean swords gleaming under the pale torchlight illuminating the streets. Without slowing down, he raised his sword at the office he’d visited earlier in the day. “In his den?”

  The guards exchanged a glance, shifting nervously.

  “Out of my way or prepare to meet your Maker!” Aboor growled, balancing the sword in both hands. He knew his body was exhausted, but his blood was boiling, a murderous rage urging him onward, every fiber of his being singing with the bloodlust that followed having survived a bloody battle.

  The soldiers turned around and scampered away.

  “He’s in there,” hissed Kadoon. “The bastard wouldn't go to sleep until he knew how his ambush went.”

  “He’s going to find out soon enough!”

  Together, the two bloodied inquisitors stormed up the stairs to the nizam’s office. Despite the late hour, four more guards stood outside the doors. They, too, took one look at the expression on his face, the blood dripping from his sword, and fled. Aboor grinned. And why would they have stayed? Ghosts, men meant to be dead, were prowling the night, not yet finished with meting out death.

  Aboor smashed open the door and burst in. Two torches at either wall cast a gloomy pall over the room. The nizam stood behind his desk, both hands raised in surrender. “What’s the meaning of this—”

  Kadoon flung his sword at the nizam. The sword flew through the room like lightning, missing him by inches, sinking into the wall beside him.

  “How many did we lose?” Aboor asked Kadoon as he stopped himself just beyond the threshold.

  “Far too many, Sahib Inquisitor.”