The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  When he came to again, he could hear a din around him. And the awful, repulsive smells of mud and shit that made up the human bodies. Where was he?

  Clenching his fists, he pushed himself back from the horse’s neck. The world dimmed for an instant, then returned in a flair of bright light. His horse was neighing, its tail flapping as though it was agitated. A small miracle he hadn't fallen off the saddle yet.

  Then, his eyes finally focused, and he saw what lay ahead.

  A dozen grim-faced soldiers on dark horses, their swords unleashed, a whole camp crawling with more behind them.

  “No!” he growled, then grabbing the reins, tried turning the horse around. His fingers twitched, but they lacked the strength to carry out his command. Spittle flying from his mouth, he tried once more, but failed.

  “Approach!” one of the men shouted at him.

  Kafayos could do nothing to ignore the command. His horse trotted slowly for a bit, then dropped to a walk. Kafayos’s heart ached. Would this be the third time he would be humiliated? This time, at the hands of human soldiers?

  No, he decided. He’d sooner die than allow himself a life like that.

  “Kafayos!” shouted a surprised feminine voice from his right. He tried turning his head around but failed, using every last dreg of strength in his body just to stop from falling off the saddle. But the voice was unmistakable, sending bolts of tingling down his spine.

  He heard the sound of boots running toward him. Another wave of dizziness threatened to send him back to the cold darkness, but he resisted. He had to turn, had to see the woman. Grunting and summoning all the strength he could, he craned his neck.

  “J-Jiza…” he croaked. He would have shaken his head had he been able to, such was the surprise and wonder that gripped him.

  “Get him off the saddle!” Jiza was shouting at the soldiers. “Right now!”

  Hands were reaching for him, grabbing and pulling him down. He tried fighting them, his heart bursting with the desire to behold her once more. Holding him up by his arms and legs, they started dragging him toward a tent.

  “No…” he squawked, ashamed at the state in which he had allowed himself to be found. He was Kafayos bin—

  They dropped him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Kafayos blinked at the darkness that the bright sun failed to dispel. The sun is a ball of fire as well! He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. If he were to die here and now, at least his death would be witnessed by a body with more fire in its belly than a thousand broken djinn like him.

  Jiza is here!

  He blinked, trying to whisk away the mist that was clouding his vision.

  The humans were crowding him again, shouting and groping at him. Where was she?

  “—Sehlour—”

  “—Shoki Malik and the—”

  Kafayos shook his head. Shoki? He froze. Of course, it all made sense. Someone ripped his shirt open, began applying a cold salve on his skin. He moaned even as bitterness spread through him. He’d seen Jiza because he had ridden right into the damnable man’s camp. Not too long ago, Shoki had been his captive. Had the roles how been reversed?

  Jiza is still with Shoki.

  He tried to seek Jiza out once more. One of the humans poked his sides once more, and he whimpered. He thought he saw her silhouette approach him. He turned away, wishing that for once, she wasn’t there to witness his shame.

  Chapter 38

  Nuraya

  Nuraya wiped the citrus juices dripping down her mouth. Then, she reached forward and refilled her flagon with water from the stream. As she stood up, a twig snapped under her foot, but she didn't care. Instead, she turned toward the east again. She was getting closer, another intuition that came naturally to her.

  She would be there soon enough.

  Nuraya strapped the flagon on her backpack, bursting with more fruits she had picked from the trees. A small mercy she was in the wetlands of the Eastern Realm where foraging was possible, and not in the wastelands and deserts that surrounded Algaria.

  Kinas would have known how to survive even in the desert.

  Nuraya put the thought out of her mind, stepping onto the small road. Her brothers, both of them, were gone. So were her parents. She was the last member of the great Istan family, and she would put her newly found power to good use.

  Her mind drifted. What was her purpose in life? Nuraya chuckled. A question she’d never thought about growing up in the comforts of the Shahi Qilla was now one that her mind kept wrestling with. She’d been reduced to a pauper and shorn of all allies when she’d stopped dancing to the whims of others. Ironically, now that she was alone, left to herself, she was truly free to help the sultanate in the best way she saw fit.

  She heard the rattle of wagons from around the bend in the road. Instead of waiting to see who they were, she leaped off the road and took cover behind the trees, her fingers scraping the wet, slimy bark, her heart thudding against her ribs. No matter what she’d endured, helping her mature as a result, for the moment she was reduced to being the little girl who jumped in fright when something unexpected clapped beside her.

  The voices grew louder. The wagon rolled into view. An old, rickety thing pulled by two oxen. An old Nishapan man, his crooked, bare back glistening under the soft rain, sat in the front. With one hand, he guided the oxen, with the other, he chewed on a sugarcane. A young boy, no older than ten, sat to his right. Even though the older man was busy chewing, that didn't put off the younger boy. He talked excitedly, only taking breaks for short breaths. The older man nodded every now and then, an affectionate grandfather indulging the vices of the young, but otherwise saying nothing.

  Nuraya tensed as they rolled closer. She had nothing to fear from them. There was even a possibility that she could ask them for directions and assistance. But she remained put, something staying that urge in her heart.

  “—what are we going to do then, grandpa?”

  The old man grunted, the cart only a dozen paces from her now.

  “Wabad’s father has went to fight for them, did you know?” the boy went on eagerly. “He’s so proud and thinks his father’s name is going to live forever in history books.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Malik kings!” the boy exclaimed. Nuraya blinked, leaning in closer to ensure she was hearing right. “Who’d have thought, eh? Did you ever imagine them returning, grandpa, did you, did you?” He giggled, clapping his thighs. “I can’t wait to be a grownup and join the army too.”

  “You don’t want that, boy,” replied the older man, finally setting the half-chewed sugarcane to the side. “Wars appear better than they are from a distance.”

  “Then…” the boy said, stroking his chin thoughtfully as the cart began rolling away from Nuraya. “I’d like to be a magus. Just like the one-eyed magus king.”

  The older man said something, the words too low for her to hear over the rattle of wheels.

  Not that it mattered.

  Her mind reeled with what she had heard. The Malik kings? The one-eyed magus? Were they talking about Shoki? Had he survived? Did others know now what she had suspected and feared?

  A bevy of emotions washed through her. Denial. Anger. Regret. Confusion over her feelings for the man she’d first seen as a city guard. Finally, a sharp pang of fear that surprised her as much as it left her numb in its wake.

  Despite all the setbacks that she had faced so far, the low station she had been temporarily reduced to, in her heart of hearts, she’d known her true place. Nuraya of the Istan family. The rightful claimant to the Peacock Throne. The only person who could patch this realm together and fight all unholy forces that dared attack it.

  Now, there was another. One whose claim she feared was just as strong, if not stronger.

  “No,” she murmured, shaking her head. The boy had to be wrong. Besides, even if the news had spread about Shoki’s ancestors, he had renounced his claims in her favor anyway. She just had to show up, and her place would be res
tored to her.

  A part of her tried its best to sow doubt in her chest. She quietened it.

  Exhaling, she started marching toward the direction the wagon had rolled from, keeping herself well-hidden in the trees. If she was close to a village, there might be the chance to pick up more information.

  The trees started to thin, giving way to golden fields as she finally caught sight of a village to the east. A small, modest one that would have housed at least a couple of thousand people. The streets were a buzz of activity even from this distance. The road had become busier over the last mile or so as farmers and hunters went about their daily business. Them, and a dozen soldiers that rode past at great speed.

  Leaning against the tree trunk, Nuraya peeked ahead. The soldiers were gathering in the village center, surrounded by locals who seemed excited. A couple of soldiers flew flags and pennants of a design she couldn't quite see from the distance but could tell she hadn't seen before.

  Nuraya seethed. Who were these soldiers? They didn't look as if they were from either the Zakhanan empire or Reratish Kingdom. The few who had passed her on the road had been wearing different styles of armor as well. Mercenaries, then? Possible, but what would they be doing all the way here?

  Again, her heart longed to turn away from the village and continue toward her destination. She resisted the urge, wanting to know more. But what was there for her to see? In another life, she would have marched out, declared herself, then asked for their fealty. In this world, even if the little boy had been wrong, who knew whose side the local ameer had thrown his weight behind?

  Words filtered up from her memory. Warnings from Dullah and Mara.

  Watch your step, Dullah had warned. Do not take a path that gives easy release. She shook her head. What else had he said? The easy path is often not the easiest path. There was more he’d said. Something about night and letting one’s enemies fight instead. Nuraya exhaled. That strange man was more than he had appeared. One who not only knew who she was but seemed to know a bit about what was going to happen to her.

  Nonsense! No one knew the future. If they did, they’d all go mad. Rabb knew she would have, had she known all that was to befall her.

  A long while later, Nuraya turned around and began trudging east, her boots sinking into the watery rice paddies. Dullah hadn’t been the only one who had thought best to impart meaningless warnings. Mara had called out to never use her powers as well when she had marched out of the tavern.

  Men, she scoffed. They never knew anything and yet never trusted the women to make decisions of their own.

  If Mara were here, and knew what she was planning, he’d have no other choice but to take back his words, and agree she was doing the right thing.

  She had a weapon—it didn’t matter how she got it—and she was going to use it.

  Nuraya inclined her chin, forcing a determined smile on her face. She looked like shit, felt like camel dung, but none of that determined who she was, or what she was capable of. Her actions would do that.

  She had a purpose, and for once, the means for fulfilling it as well.

  Chapter 39

  Shoki

  “We need to talk once all this is over,” Purnava said, the younger of the two female magi, the rising sun softening her dark brown eyes.

  “Aye,” Shoki agreed, fidgeting with his tunic. “We’ll need to coordinate a plan for pushing back the blight.”

  “Among other things,” replied Aathmik, the other magus, her voice hard, sharp.

  Shoki nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. The two magus women crossed over to their horses, pulling themselves up into the saddles.

  The air rang with the noise of soldiers mounting up and preparing for war. Once Camsh had hammered out the overall plan for attack, he’d decided the camp would be dismantled as well. So the soldiers know they’ve got nothing left to come back to, Camsh had explained when Shoki had questioned him.

  Lots had been drawn. Seven thousand soldiers, two-thirds of their current strength, would be attacking the castle, with the other third kept back as reserve.

  Shoki felt restless. He turned his head around, then gestured at the soldier he’d asked to prepare his horse to hurry on. The Malik kings weren't supposed to put themselves in danger either—something he believed Camsh was lying to him about—but he’d be damned if he stayed behind with the third instead of leading the battle from the front.

  “I’m trusting these magi of yours,” boomed a familiar voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

  “Inquisitor Aboor,” Shoki replied coolly. “They could say the same about you.”

  “Oh, there is nothing to worry on that front,” Inquisitor Aboor declared, mounting his white mare with a wince. “The inquisitors fight with honor.”

  Shoki ignored the urge to snap back. Instead, he pointed at the young inquisitor marching toward a large warhorse in his gleaming armor. “What about him?”

  “Shoki,” the inquisitor said. “I gave you my word, and that ought to be enough.”

  Once more, Shoki bit down the retorts that bubbled up. Aboor was a man who he had once looked up to. The man who had kidnapped and tortured him. The memory made the muscles around his ruined eye twitch. He ignored the urge to scratch it. Instead, he nodded, then turned his face away from the inquisitor and toward the soldiers.

  Thousands of soldiers were mounted up, flags and pennants of their liege lords fluttering in the dawn. Mercenaries from two companies. Soldiers sent by the ameers of Danda, Nishapa, and Zikhzil. A contingent supplied by Chahar Rahane, nawab of Awdh. Seventeen inquisitors. Seven magi, including him.

  A motley crew if there ever was one.

  A good start if there was any hope for the future.

  “Inquisitor,” Shoki called out just as Inquisitor Aboor made ready to kick his horse. “May the Unseen God guide your hands wisely.”

  Inquisitor Aboor stared at Shoki’s face for a long moment. “Don’t believe I ever said it, but I hope you can move past what I did to you.”

  “That’s a funny way of asking for an apology.”

  Inquisitor Aboor shrugged.

  Shoki exhaled. “Perhaps, you did what you thought best.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t regret it.” He hesitated. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Before Shoki could say anything, Inquisitor Aboor pulled his reins, then, waving at his fellow inquisitors, bellowed, “Time to earn our keep!”

  Horses snorted and neighed, their tails flapping about, their hooves thumping the ground, kicking up dust. Shoki coughed but stayed put. If he was meant to be leader of this expedition, then he would be seen standing tall and proud in front of all those men and women who would be soon endangering their lives in his name.

  “He’s changed, the inquisitor,” said another voice, followed by a rasping cough.

  Shoki smiled. “Maharis, I was wondering if you’d be knocking at my tent again, warning against the inquisitors’ intentions.”

  Maharis shuffled forward. “That was a different time. I don’t know about the inquisitors as a whole, but as far as Aboor is concerned… I wouldn't worry too much about him.”

  Shoki nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

  Maharis stood beside him for a moment, both men watching the soldiers grinning and shouting at each other. “I better get going. Travel’s always been hard on my old bones.”

  Shoki smiled again. “Old bones who can give a man the strength of ten.”

  “You embarrass me,” Maharis replied with a wink.

  Crossing his arms, Shoki bit down his lower lip, feeling useless just standing and not doing anything.

  “The men are ready,” came Salar Ihagra’s voice from Shoki’s left. “Give the order and we begin our march.”

  Shoki swallowed. It was one thing having a conviction and taking an action based off that. But it was quite another committing the lives of others toward it.

  “Are we doing the right thing, Salar?”

  T
he salar joined him. A pillar of quiet strength and resolve. “Will this help the people of this realm?”

  “I think so, but—”

  “Will it help forge a bond between the various factions that were content to rip each other into shreds up until now?”

  “Yes, but I fear—”

  “Then, yes, we’re doing the right thing.”

  Shoki grinned, then turned around and pulled the salar into a tight embrace. The taciturn man resisted, mumbling excuses for the need to maintain decorum, but Shoki didn’t let go.

  Finally, Salar Ihagra squirmed his way free, but didn't march away. He turned his face away for an instant, dabbing at something in his eyes, then returned his gaze to the assembled men. “Jinan returned early in the morning. The rumors were right. A thousand ghouls, at the least, are spread outside the castle. They remain within two hundred yards of the castle. Apart from them, no other defensive measures seem in place.” He paused. “We should prevail. If we do, that would be a grand gesture for the world.”

  “Afrasiab warned me to not attack him,” Shoki said slowly, then shook his head. “We should prevail, shouldn’t we?”

  “God willing. Afrasiab warned you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Hmm,” said the salar. “He won’t be much happy once we’re done.”

  Shoki smiled.

  “We’ll ride the whole day, stopping for six hours in the night.” Salar Ihagra coughed. “We’ll be there by mid-day tomorrow.”

  Shoki nodded. Mid-day tomorrow felt like an awfully short period of time. How would this battle go down? He swallowed. “Alright, Salar. Give the order.”

  Salar Ihagra rode off to the front of their lines. Ground thrummed under his feet and Shoki turned left. A couple of hundred riders were riding away. They would arrive before the main contingent of their army, setting up forward defensive positions, and digging in for the rest of them. To his right, the reserve third was moving away as well, at a statelier trot. His eye fell on the tall, handsome figure of Jinan Hoshbar. The mercenary looked resplendent in his golden turban and leather vest. His face hadn't lost the hardness that had made a permanent home there by now, but he looked alert. A man who knew what was needed of him and didn't shy away from it anymore.