The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  Yahni shook her head, stepping toward the door to block her. “Young human, whether knowingly or otherwise, you’ve doomed yourself. No blood magus keeps their mind.”

  Nuraya blinked, her eyes falling back to the dead. Commoners. Magi. Inquisitions. The stone had pulsed in her hand before falling down. Had it been absorbing bits of the dead then? Was there any truth to Yahni’s fears? Could it really be that… Afrasiab had planned this? Surely, that couldn’t be right. She’d always known she had the potential to be a magus. She had!

  “Take her to the inquisitors,” Kafayos said. “They’ll know how to deal with her.”

  Mara nodded slowly. “That might work.”

  “What will they do?” Nuraya asked, her eyes falling back to the sword between her and Kafayos.

  “Sever you, of course,” Kafayos answered, planting the false grin once more. “Help you!”

  Nuraya bared her teeth, the blood beginning to boil in her veins. She wasn’t getting her point through the djinn. Why couldn't they see that she was in full control of her mental faculties? That she was in a position to help them.

  But only if she could harness this power.

  “We’re wasting time,” Kafayos said, waving a hand in annoyance. “Better get this done with and be on our way.”

  “I’m sorry, Nuraya,” Mara said, stepping forward, his hands extended. “But trust me when I say I know what’s best for you in this situation.”

  “Do not approach me!” Nuraya barked, raising her arm. “Turn around and walk away!”

  Kafayos exhaled. Another attempt at injecting false bravado she could see right through. “This is getting tiring. Azar, deposit this girl with the inquisitors, and then let’s return to Nainwa. The humans can destroy their world however they will. Perhaps there is still time for us to negotiate with Drenpa and his djinn.”

  “They attacked my army,” Nuraya growled. “For their sins, I will flay those djinn alive!”

  Shaking his head, muttering under his breath, Kafayos began walking toward her. “Enough!”

  “Kafayos—” Yahni warned but he ignored her, reaching forward to grab her.

  Nuraya dodged the djinn easily, then punched him in the sternum. Had the djinn been a man, she would have knocked the wind out of him. As it was, she left him looking startled.

  “You dare raise your hand to me?” he asked.

  “Step back!” she shouted, even as she did so herself to put some distance between herself and them.

  Kafayos reached for her once more, this time quicker than he’d been before. She pirouetted on her heels, dodging him. Kafayos’s outstretched fingers found the hem of her peshwaz. Nuraya screamed, then squirmed out of his reach, the air filling with the noise of ripping fabric.

  Shaking his head, Kafayos approached her once more.

  Anger flared through her. Familiar. Stubborn. Unyielding. Kafayos was furious. Extremely so. If there was no Mara to restrain him, he might have used his jadu on her.

  “Kafayos, leave her,” Mara said.

  “No!” Kafayos spat. “I am going to throw her to the inquisitors. And then, whether you like it or not, Azar, I am dragging your ass back to Nainwa. You are needed there.”

  “I am where I’m needed, young one,” Mara replied.

  Kafayos wheeled about, his face growing red hot. “Azar, this is not a negotiation. Either you come back with me, or I leave you to the woes of this world.”

  “The woes of this world will become ours if we don’t address them.”

  Taking advantage of the altercation, Nuraya skirted around Kafayos, making a beeline for the doors. Another breath and she would be out.

  Kafayos lunged for her, his fingers almost grabbing her by the throat before she side-stepped him.

  The world lost all color.

  Nuraya screamed, feeling her eyes rolling back in their sockets. Kafayos was burning, his well a raging fire within. Centering herself, she extended her hand, saw her will respond to her bodily movement. She attacked the raging fire with tendrils of ice.

  She heard a panicked shout and redoubled her attack. Over and over, she set her will against the fire within Kafayos. Each time she returned for the next round, she could see his well had dimmed. Before she knew it, the well had dwindled almost to embers. If she kept it up, it wouldn't be long before Kafayos—

  Nuraya blinked, ceasing her attacks.

  What in the seven hells was she doing?

  What kind of power was it that allowed her to quench other magi’s wells?

  More dark spots gathered at the periphery of her sight, this time crowding in, threatening to overwhelm her.

  Was that the taint the magi had been talking about?

  She felt her knees buckle. What had she done? What had she become?

  Get out!

  Nuraya began walking for the door, somehow knowing the djinn wouldn't stop her this time.

  She was right.

  Chapter 30

  Shoki

  “Isn’t that some sight, eh?” Salar Ihagra muttered, standing tall in the command tent like some statue carved in the graveyard of Matli. “Weak men shuffling about under the weight of swollen, starched shirts to cover their paunches!”

  Shoki giggled at the sight of the macho salar, peeking through the flaps of their command tent like some coy girl. Camsh shook his head slightly as if silently bemoaning the loss of decorum. Not something that Shoki cared for at the moment. If he could win his argument today, there’d be no such moments of respite for quite a while.

  Jinan entered their tent, his sullen eyes finding Shoki. “They are ready.”

  “A wise man watches the manner he speaks to his betters,” Salar Ihagra said, his voice sharp.

  “My betters, you say?” Jinan mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where might I find such people?”

  “Jinan, for weeks you’ve been acting as if you’ve got a giant rod shoved up your ass,” Shoki said, keeping his voice even. “Isn’t this time to move on?”

  Jinan’s lips quivered, his eyes darkening. Instead of replying, he huffed and marched outside.

  “Mercenaries,” said Salar Ihagra. “Some things never change.”

  Shoki bit his lower lip, looking out the tent at the dozen men and women sitting in a semi-circle outside, under the surprisingly blue skies today. A high-backed wooden chair sat empty to one side. Banners and pennants fluttered from poles in the distance. No roaring lions in this camp. A week ago, someone had flown the first Malik flag seen in centuries. A yellow sun disc on a bed of white. An emblem that had instantly become the rallying sign for the more than five thousand soldiers who now followed him.

  Army of the Rising Sun.

  Shoki shook his head, still not used to the idea of being someone who had a family crest of his own, much less being the scion of the old Malik kings.

  One of the distinguished guests in the clearing turned around to face his tent. Half a dozen more did so too.

  Shoki’s stomach grumbled. They were waiting for him. Unnatural allies forced together to listen to him. Magi from half a dozen schools. An inquisitor, of all people, somehow agreeable to listening to Shoki and what he had to propose. Representatives of ameers and nizams from around the area who now called themselves sultans. Even a salar of three thousand men, insisting on calling themselves the last soldiers of the Sultana’s Hands.

  How could they work together? They were all hyenas gathered around fresh meat, waiting for their turn to pounce on the kill.

  At least, they were all Istani. Neither the Reratish nor the Zakhanan armies had responded to his requests for this summit. Ambassadors of Fojoro and Xin had declined to come, whereas those from Polino, Zersia, and Kur’sh had grown quiet. No doubt they waited to see which party would come out victorious before they lent their weight to their cause.

  Shoki shifted uncomfortably, anxiety building in him at the prospect of leaving the tent and addressing them. “Camsh, tell me again how I should talk to them.”

 
; The grand vizier’s son nodded. When he spoke, his voice sounded grandfatherly and young at the same time. “While it’s wise to thank those who’ve traveled far and wide to answer your call, it’s also important not to lose sight of fact that you are the claimant to the Peacock Throne. Regardless of the claim’s strength, or how others regard it, your mere declaration elevates your station over all others.” He shrugged. “Utter no words that behold you to them. You demanded their presence and are glad they showed up. That should suffice.”

  “So, thank them,” said Shoki, his voice quiet, deliberative, “but also not thank them.”

  “Exactly,” Camsh said, nodding. “Strike balance like… the feather, at once floating and crashing into the ground.”

  Shoki cocked his head to the side. Even though he wasn’t using his well, darkness bubbled at the edges of his vision. The moment passed.

  Camsh wrung his hands. “Once that’s done, you need to remind them of their responsibility, and how you expect them to meet it.”

  “Beg for their help in a… kingly manner?”

  “A sultan expects, and he receives.”

  Shoki grunted. When his eye met the salar’s, he grinned, then shrugged as if to say it was something he had brought on himself. That was true enough, but Shoki could have done with some help.

  There was no good delaying the inevitable. Either, he would win their support, or push them away. Either way, he didn't have the time to dither. Oh, Gods of the Atishi, and Fanna, and the Unseen God, too… you know what I’m doing is the right thing. Support my cause and I’ll sacrifice goats. Thousands!

  He swallowed, losing his resolve for a moment. He’d sat on the fence for a long time. What Chahar Rahane wanted would be in contradiction to what the Sultana’s Hands demanded. What the inquisitors would require wouldn’t be acceptable to the magi. How long before his allies would stab each other in the back?

  How in the blasted Gods’ guts would he ever keep them all together?

  Nuraya had to wade through all this as well. Shoki felt the usual pang of sorrow at the thought. He had been quick to point the finger at her when she hadn’t listened to him, but now that he was in a similar position, he felt the pull of the hundred different threads all tugging at him from opposite directions.

  Being the Istani Sultan, or the Malik King, wasn’t quite the glamorous life he’d assumed. More like he was a first among equals, forever begging and cajoling others into doing his bidding.

  “Camsh,” Shoki said, straightening the folds in the green tunic the grand vizier’s son—the man who had all but become his grand vizier—had him wear today. “Does it get any better? This burden of governance, of conflicting and competing interests?”

  Camsh turned around, allowing the full weight of his stare to settle on Shoki. “A good sultan… king is one who remains unruffled even when the boat he sails has a thousand holes.”

  “A thousand holes,” Shoki said. “Surely, that’s not possible—” He paused. “Rhetorical, I see.”

  “Shoki,” Salar Ihagra said, thumping his back. “Do us proud.”

  Though Shoki offered a tight-lipped smile, he considered delaying his address. There was so much more he should’ve asked Camsh. Maybe there were tidbits he could learn and use with the delegates. Bring up their shared heritage and aspirations. Talk of the things that united them to reduce the sting of their differences.

  Taking in a deep lungful of the cool morning air, Shoki stepped out from the command tent. One by one, the delegates turned to watch him. Even the salar representing Sultana’s Hands, all the more conspicuous by the manner in which he glared at Shoki with open hostility.

  Shoki plastered a grin on his face. Maybe, that wasn’t quite the right image to portray at a moment like this, but that was all he had. What would the Iron Sultan have done in this situation? What would the Malik kings have done? Would they have smiled beatifically, accepting their adoration with nonchalance? Or would they have remained emotionless, aloof like the Iron Sultan?

  Watch where you step!

  Biting his lower lip, Shoki dropped his right hand and surreptitiously lifted the blasted folds of his tunic. He did know this much: no monarch would have slipped on his own regalia meeting his subjects.

  Subjects?

  Shoki blinked, taken aback by the manner in which they were all watching him, waiting for him to come to them. True, they all had their own agendas in dealing with him. But by the gods, Camsh was also right in how they approached him now that they thought him someone else. All he’d done was donned a mask, but if they saw it, no one laughed openly at that. Far from the ridicule he’d expected, he saw a deference. Forced, but there, regardless.

  “The Rising Sun,” cried Chahar Rahane, nawab of Awdh, throwing himself on the ground in prostration, his forehead touching the ground.

  “Magus,” growled an inquisitor, offering a forced nod, his plain gray turban standing out in the sea of gaudy headgear. Shoki nodded at him, then smiled as a middle-aged woman he didn't recall reached out to hold his right hand in both of hers.

  “I never thought I’d live to see this,” she cooed, the head veil slipping slightly to reveal pure white hair underneath. “Rabb be praised.” When Shoki grinned and tried to turn away, she refused to relinquish his hand. Instead, she leaned in. “A young king needs a good queen to look after his domestic matters. Afterwards, come over and I’ll introduce—”

  “My lord, the sultan of Zikhzil pays his respects to your august majesty,” said a tall man, wearing the ship-like hat popular in Nikhtun and the Western Realm. “He is most keen to hear how he might be of service to you. The future of our peoples is indeed bright with someone like you taking back Algaria from the wretched Zakhanan. Once that’s done, we’d do all we can to fight against the Reratish monsters.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes then rounded at the ambassador. “Sultan of Zikhzil?” She shook her head. “I remember when he, the third son of a minor provincial ameer, wouldn't even have made a nizam. Oh, how the times have changed!”

  “The inquisitors continue to pose the gravest of dangers,” said one of the magi. She was young, her skin a comely brown complexion, the eyes deep-set and bright. Like the other woman magus beside her, she wore not just the black turban but also an ebony-colored peshwaz that seemed to shimmer as she moved about. Shoki felt his eye arrested by the dress, dazzled by the way in which light played on it. Jadu of some sort? Some glamor to attract attention?

  “Follow me,” Shoki heard a hushed whisper in his left ear. Camsh. A hand grabbed his, began pulling at him. Shoki allowed Camsh to guide him through the dozen delegates who had somehow turned into a sea of sticky honey he wasn't able to extract himself from. Jinan trailed them.

  “Sit down!” Camsh shouted, the authoritative and loud tone catching Shoki by surprise. “All of you, pray be seated now.”

  Shoki remained standing, fidgeting with the tunic. Perspiration trickled down his back. He ignored it. Sweat gathered on his brow. He blinked. A fly buzzed by his ear. The wind rustled in the distance, setting the pennants fluttering fiercely for an instant. A sneeze threatened to escape him.

  “Sahib Shoki,” whispered Camsh.

  “What—” The world came crashing right back. The delegates were seated, just as Camsh had ordered. They looked at him, their bodies rigid, their mouths set in hard, straight lines. “Oh.”

  A distant bird twittered, followed by the flap of wings. Dimly, he registered the buzz of voices. His soldiers. Five thousand of them, who had come of their own volition to fight under his name. Souls clamoring to meet their maker under a new banner.

  The delegates were still looking at him, some fidgeting with their tunics.

  Shoki cringed. How much time had he already wasted? There was an etiquette to running these meetings—one more of Camsh’s numerous teachings. Run them too short and risk them achieving nothing. Drag them too long and gain a reputation for rambling.

  Of all the questions he’d asked Camsh, he’d
never asked him on how to start these meetings. These men and women followed different religions, spoke different languages and dialects, stood in opposition to each other. How in Gods’ guts did one start talks of unity with them?

  “Ghouls,” he said, the heavy world tumbling out of his mouth, surprising him as much as it did others, judging by their gasps. “Ghouls gather in human lands.”

  Shoki paused, not quite sure of where he needed to go from here. What were Camsh’s suggestions? He clenched his fists. “Some of you were at the Battle of Buzdar. Those who weren’t, heard from those who managed to flee of the terrible massacre that followed.” He licked his lips. “We can’t allow a repeat of that.”

  “No,” said someone.

  “Take back Algaria!” Chahar Rahane wailed.

  Shoki raised a hand and the voices quietened. “Ghouls gather in the lands around Sehlour. Each day, more news arrives from the far east of the blight that is spreading, destroying human lands.” He paused to dab his forehead. The magus girl in front of him crossed her arms over her chest. “I was in Nainwa, a… djinn city, not too long ago.” He ignored the disbelieving gasps and continued. “Their lands are cursed, an eventuality that faces our world as well. The djinn failed to reverse the curse.” He gritted his teeth, raising his clenched fist. “We cannot afford to do the same.”

  “Nuraya Istan, Keeper of the Divide, will set it alright,” the Istani salar snarled, his mouth twisted in hatred.

  “She’s. Not. Here,” replied Jinan. Shoki blinked, surprised by his support.

  “What do you want?” one of the inquisitors asked. “Why have you asked us to meet at all?”

  “F-fight,” Shoki mumbled.

  “What?”

  “We need to fight!” Shoki shouted. “Before the blight takes over the human lands, before the ghouls run through our cities and towns and villages, we need to unite and strike them down first.”

  “Bah,” the inquisitor said, rising, and sweeping his hand toward the magus girls and then toward him. “The real danger is one posed by the abominations. By magi. By people like you. Do you deny the three thousand who perished in Hasana when two schools of magi broke out into war? Do you deny your part in tearing down the very walls that had protected Algaria from invaders for centuries?”