Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  She stiffened, narrowed her eyes. “No one tells me what to do.” Harsher words than she had intended, but at least they had the right effect. Suitably chastened, the old guard nodded and stepped away.

  Inhaling, Nuraya motioned Mona to stay behind then entered the chamber.

  Unlike the perfumed corridors and courtyards of the women’s harem or the somber ambience of the men’s section, rooms of the most powerful person in the Istani Sultanate—the entire world—were practically bare. Beyond basic furnishings and a few lit candelabras, the rooms were dark, the marble floor bare, no tapestries adorning the walls.

  “Abba,” she called out.

  A cough came from an inner room. Steeling her nerve, she advanced.

  Sultan Anahan, first of his name, Keeper of the Divide, looked up from his desk as she entered the room. In the flickering candlelight, the lines on his face appeared deeper, the short beard fuller than it really was. Yet she felt the full weight of his unblinking eyes upon her.

  “Abba,” she said, offering a short bow, “you wanted to see me.”

  “Nuraya,” said the sultan, his usually strong voice sounding tired, weak. He coughed. When he inhaled, she heard the rattle in his chest.

  “Abba, you should be resting,” she croaked, hating how pathetic her voice sounded. “Let… someone else look after matters of state for a bit. Perhaps the grand vizier. You—”

  “A ruler doesn’t get to choose when not to be the ruler, my daughter.” The sultan chuckled, a soft, wheezing sound. “Something your tutors need to instill more in you.”

  “Nonsense,” she declared, not caring what he thought of her words. Sultan or not, she was his daughter after all. “You are going to take a break whether or not you like it. I’m going to speak with Ahasan and the grand vizier. To start off, it would be good to make these tiresome court sessions less meandering and more focused.”

  The sultan’s long fingers reached out for the quill. “You don’t approve of how we went about the last session?”

  She laughed. “Really, Abba? A fight between Madhu and Riyan that could’ve been snuffed out the second it broke out? And all that over some dusty old town suffering from some collective hallucination? Hardly the sort of stuff that needs the sultan himself to pay attention!”

  The Iron Sultan leaned forward, his unblinking eyes sapping her resolve.

  Undeterred, she pressed on. “And what was the result in the end anyway? Some young city guard who can barely stand straight sent off to accompany a Kalb inquisitor?”

  Sultan Anahan shook his head. “Nuraya, my little girl, how much you’ve grown… and how much you still need to.”

  She bristled, shook her head. “Abba, you sent for me?”

  The sultan coughed, stayed silent for a long breath. He was thinking, making decisions. Something she could guess at but pry no deeper. “I’m afraid you’re right to some extent. A man, no matter how strong or powerful, is still a man, and like all men, he is cursed with the inability to do justice to all roles Rabb commands him to play.” Again, her father paused to draw in a wheezing breath. “Your tutors have not explained to you some things reserved for me. It’s time to begin righting that.”

  “Abba, I can wield the sword, ride the wildest of warhorses, dance, sew, play musical instruments, read poetry—”

  Sultan Anahan raised his hand and she fell silent straight away. Even in this room with just the two of them, a father and a daughter, the force of his presence was impossible to ignore. She exhaled, finding herself reduced to the role of a subject in front of an absolute ruler.

  “I am not just the sultan of the Istani empire and the keeper of its people. I’m also responsible for keeping the Divide, the division between the worlds of different races. Something Rabb has enjoined on all those who sit upon the Peacock Throne.”

  The sultan’s eyes focused on her face again.

  She swallowed the lump rising in her chest. “Of course, we all know that, Abba. Believe it or not, the tutors did teach us this.”

  “No, they did not,” he replied, his soft voice cutting through hers easily. “It’s time for me to start teaching you before I’m not able to.” He raised a hand as Nuraya opened her mouth. “Keep an eye out on what’s happening at Ghulamia. I want you to talk with Riyan, ask him to report to you once he’s heard more news. Also, liaise with Madhu. When the city’s Nizam arrives, I want you to interrogate him, find out how much truth there is to these allegations.” He paused. “Prove yourself worthy of knowledge and responsibility so you may continue to keep learning.”

  She frowned. No way was she going to turn down Abba’s commands, but it felt like she was missing something, an undercurrent she could sense but not see. “As you say, Abba.”

  Sultan Anahan, a man whose indomitable will seemed undimmed within his ailing body, raised his hand. “Go, Nuraya. I’m tired. We will talk again.”

  Chapter 3

  Shoki

  Shoki looked back longingly at the city walls fast disappearing behind him. Algaria, the magnificent city of domes and gardens, where even slum-dwellers lived like minor lordlings, continued to fall away. A pang rose in his heart.

  The whole world traveled to the city he was leaving behind. Something wasn’t right about that.

  Without warning, his chestnut broke out into a trot, the sudden jolt almost unseating him. With a cry, Shoki turned about, one hand gripping the pommel for dear life.

  “Before long you’ll be riding like a warrior, boy,” said Altamish Aboor, the Kalb inquisitor still dressed in a black leather jacket and gray turban.

  “Doubt it,” muttered Shoki, still clutching the pommel. “Really doubt it.”

  Altamish chuckled, his body moving in sync with his white mare’s movements even as his eyes stared at Shoki. The man might limp on the ground, but seated on horseback, he cut an imposing figure, comfortable in the saddle like trout in the sea. Shoki’s eyes fell on the scabbard tied next to the inquisitor’s brown rucksack. He licked his lips, recalling the evil-looking scimitar the inquisitor had placed within.

  “Ever held one?” asked Altamish. He chuckled. An ugly sound, repulsive and terrifying at the same moment. Shoki swallowed. If there ever was an archetype of the brooding, silent, fearsome inquisitor, Altamish fit it perfectly.

  “Oh, absolutely,” replied Shoki, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Held it, many a time.” He might not have swung it in quite the same manner the inquisitor been expecting, but that was hardly something to own up to now.

  The inquisitor grunted, patting the pocket in his jacket where Shoki had seen him deposit a vial of blood.

  Rolling his eyes, Shoki tried to ignore the rising dread in his chest. He was meant to be patrolling the streets of Algaria, doing his part to maintain peace, not riding away like this without even a chance to say goodbye to his parents. Sure, the salar had argued he had to leave straight away, but couldn’t he have put up token resistance at least? Hadn’t he earned that much, thanks to the lucky break he’d caught in their last case?

  Again, he craned his neck back. Tiny, ant-like figures stood over the distant parapets above the smooth sand-kissed walls. Ancient walls that beckoned weary travelers crossing the vast desert as a beacon of hope and succor. A whimper escaped his lips and he turned back, lest the inquisitor heard it.

  They had been riding northwest for more than two hours now and the Imperial Highway connecting Algaria to far-flung Buzdar was growing deserted.

  Shoki felt his bladder stir. “Erm…” he called out.

  The inquisitor ignored him.

  “Sahib Inquisitor,” tried Shoki again, cringing at the whining that had somehow crept into his voice. “C-can we… erm… take a little break?”

  Altamish Aboor snorted.

  Shoki closed his eyes. May your Rabb and my gods all drown you in the middle of a fresh water lake as you die of thirst! He shivered as he scanned the setting sun, then, remembering he hadn’t even packed a blanket in his rucksack, cursed himself
. Did it get cold in the night outside the city walls? Nothing he had prepared for. Were there other dangers he didn’t even know about that he should have at least given a moment’s thought to?

  Shoki cast a baleful glance toward the inquisitor. If only some people hadn’t been too hasty, he’d have time to prepare for the journey adequately, say his farewells, ready his wits and courage, pack a small lute, and… take a piss.

  “Hah!” shouted Altamish, his right hand smacking the mare’s neck. The horse bolted.

  “Argh!” shrieked Shoki as his horse took off a bare instant later. His heart leapt into his throat as the horse slipped into a fast canter. Don’t gallop. Don’t gallop. Distantly, impossibly, he heard the inquisitor shout again. He almost wet himself as his own horse broke out into a wild gallop.

  The reins slipped. Leaning forward, eyes drawing shut, he grabbed the pommel with both hands, hunching over it in the fetal position. Please, gods, don’t let me fall. Ten goats for the poor. A part of his subconscious rebuked him at the lie one shouldn’t tell the deities. Five goats!

  The cursed chestnut snorted, and then once more, without warning, it thudded down to a slow canter.

  Shoki creaked an eyelid open. Blood pounded his temples, his hands slippery around the pommel. He blinked. Altamish turned toward him.

  “Always good to let the horses run wild,” he said, then turned back. “Now we know what they’re capable of.”

  “Wouldn’t wanna know what I’m capable of when pissed off,” muttered Shoki.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” replied Shoki.

  The inquisitor raised a hand toward the darkening sky, his fingers seemingly measuring the stars. Shoki focused on his heart thudding in the chest. He hadn’t fallen off. A minor victory. Nor had he squealed like a girl. A major victory. How far had they come already, though? He resisted the urge to turn back out of fear it might spook the chestnut.

  “Keep up, boy,” said Altamish. “Or you’re going to get left behind.”

  “Wouldn’t be a terrible outcome,” Shoki muttered.

  “Speak up! I can’t hear you.”

  “I heard you just fine,” shouted back Shoki.

  The inquisitor grew silent. Fear surged through Shoki. Had he gone too far? No one spoke to an inquisitor of the Kalb like this. One day, this tongue of his was going to land him in trouble. When the inquisitor didn’t wheel his mare about to skin him, he stole a glance back.

  Nothing but treetops. Shoki blinked. Not just the stunted few that grew in the Algarian slums. Actual, living trees. The road had been tapering in like a wedge for some time, its edges giving into the encroaching trees. And now, somehow, the trees had grown dense enough to become a forest. He exhaled, feeling his bladder scream in protest. Why in gods’ names had the damned Istani sultans wanted to settle in the desert anyway when there were trees mere hours’ ride away?

  On that note, where was everyone else? Shoki stood up on the stirrups. Shouldn’t one of the main roads leading into the capital of the Istani empire be crowded with merchants and all sorts of traveling folk, even with the sun going down?

  The answer came back in a flash, freezing his blood.

  Bandits.

  Sinking down in the saddle, he peered at the lengthening shadows. Bandits. Scourge of foolish merchants. Why in the gods’ names was he out and about at this time? Things would have been so much simpler had he been able to turn the sultan down. He scoffed. As if anyone ever said no to the world’s most powerful man.

  Shoki felt his eyes widen as he turned back to the dark trees. Was that a head peeking out from behind that neem tree? A tremble creeping into his hands, he turned away.

  Another question rose.

  Why in bloody gods’ guts were they traveling at this cursed hour anyway?

  Shoki cleared his throat. “Erm…”

  “What?” came the disinterested response.

  “Shouldn’t we be planning to… erm… set up camp for the night?”

  “Is the sun down?”

  “Well, no,” said Shoki. “But—”

  “Then we ride.”

  “Erm, but—”

  “Did you not hear me again?”

  Pressing his lips, Shoki blew out the pent-up frustration in his chest. Not only was he on a mission he had no interest in and totally unsuited for besides, but he was stuck with a madman to boot. Perfect. Just gods’ guts perfect.

  His companion fell silent again and they continued to ride, the horses grunting under the unrelenting pace.

  Shoki felt a kinship with the horses, joining them in the mutual distaste and fear of the short, middle-aged inquisitor who acted more like a military commander than a hunter of magi. Someone more suited for Salar Ihagra than Shoki.

  Long breaths later, Shoki’s eyes swept the blurring trees to his right. Thicker, taller, denser than before in the darkness gathering under them. Once more, he got the distinct impression someone or something was watching them. A shiver crawled up his spine. Look ahead! He turned away from the trees, squeezing his eyes shut.

  He should have been home at this hour, preparing for a good night’s rest, having sat through yet another of his father’s spiels. Would they be wondering where he was? Would Salar Ihagra or the grand vizier’s men have told them?

  Frustration grew in his chest now. Anger at the unrelenting man leading them even as night continued to spread. Frustration at him having been chosen despite the hundreds of thousands of soldiers and guards that made up the sultan’s armies in the city.

  Why not someone like Salar Ihagra, a man most amenable to something like this despite his advancing age?

  “Argh,” he muttered, then slapped at his neck as a fly stung him. Life for men like him wasn’t an envious one. Nothing like the princes of the sultanate who really lived their lives, the world ready to dance to their tunes and whims. What would a life like that be like? He sighed.

  As if on cue, his distracted mind conjured Princess Nuraya. The beautiful oval-shaped face tilted back as she laughed, her long slender arms laden with gold bangles, eyes as bright as the sun, her friends joining in, their teeth blackened to perfection.

  His mind drifted even more, a pleasant tingling spreading in his abdomen as he stared at the princess’s image. Perfect skin, dark with a tinge of olive. The hint of cleavage through the tight peshwaz—

  The horse neighed and Shoki’s eyes sprang open. The sun had completely set some time ago, the last evidence of its existence fading over the treetops. Shoki shifted uncomfortably on the saddle. The inquisitor’s horse continued to trudge forward. Shoki chewed on his lower lip, his eyes once more flitting, never settling at a spot for long. Did the horses feel some of his tension as well?

  “Sahib Inquisitor,” Shoki shouted. “Should we be looking at camping now?”

  “We keep moving,” came the reply.

  “But—”

  “And keep your mouth shut. Your high voice carries.”

  “My… high voice!” Shoki screeched, then cleared his throat. “I’ll have you know—”

  Something whistled past Shoki’s left ear, followed by a soft slap of wind. The chestnut snorted, neighed, its neck turning this way and that.

  “What—” He caught the faintest glimmer of something shiny catch the starlight ahead before sinking into the inquisitor’s rucksack. Shoki’s blood curdled.

  Arrows.

  They were being fired upon.

  As if aware of its master’s distress, his horse bolted, breaking out into a gallop. Someone shouted, a loud, piercing shriek breaking the rhythm of hooves falling on the paved road. Wild-eyed, Shoki held on to the pommel even as the horse thundered forward. Then he realized he was the one shouting. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he began whimpering.

  Gods… all of you, even you, Rabb, ten goats. No, fifteen goats. I’ll take out a loan. Feed a dozen homeless. Just let me out of this alive.

  Another horse neighed beside him, startling Shoki. He glanced to the side, not r
aising his head lest an errant arrow might find him.

  “Head for the clearing fifty yards to the left,” Inquisitor Altamish shouted, one arm raised in the air ahead of him. “Dismount there and head into the trees.”

  Dismount? Shoki shook his head, unable to summon the words to disagree. Madness. Why would he make it easier for the bandits to get to him?

  “Hee-yaah!” shouted the inquisitor, kicking into the mare’s belly. Shoki’s horse neighed in response, and much to Shoki’s shock, it galloped toward the clearing.

  No! Shoki reached forward, his fingers seeking the reins, the cursed things that had slipped once more. He had to turn the horse away and leave the inquisitor to do whatever crazy stuff his ilk got up to.

  More arrows whizzed overhead.

  Twang! Twang! Twang!

  Shoki cried out, dropping his head.

  Altamish dismounted expertly the moment his mare entered the clearing. Raising a hand to his lips, the other hand drawing out the scimitar, the inquisitor dropped to a crouch and headed into the thick brush.

  Shoki blinked, hearing his heartbeat louder than he ever had. Was he meant to stay where he was? Surely not. Not unless he wanted to provide target practice.

  “Curse you all,” he whined, tears leaking from his eyes unashamedly. He’d only ever patrolled the city streets during the day, in the cocoon of the mercantile quarter—none of which had prepared him for this mess. His right boot got caught in the stirrup. He cried, bent to free it. Shouts rose behind him, drawing closer. “Argh!” He pushed, pulled, then pulled over his left boot.

  He landed on the leaf littered ground, the right boot still tangled in the stirrup. “Come off!” he shouted, pulling with all his might. The horse neighed, its lathered neck shaking side to side.

  With a soft plop, his foot came free, the force of his effort throwing him back to the ground.

  Someone let out a shout, and the sound froze Shoki’s blood.

  On all fours, he headed for the brush, his heart thudding, his knees scraping, the world shrinking to just the few inches in front, the voices getting closer.