Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  Nuraya glared. “Don’t dare disregard me again.”

  “My princess…” began the magus, then fell silent, spying a serving girl approach them.

  “Will ye be having anything else?” the girl asked, her nasal, uncouth drawl grating, annoying to Nuraya’s cultured ears.

  “No, thank you,” muttered Mona, a forced smile planted on her face.

  “Wench!” one of the merchants yelled. “Come over here!”

  Muttering under her breath, the girl swiveled on her feet, leaving them alone once more. Mona leaned forward, pulled Nuraya’s hood forward.

  Nuraya motioned at the magus to continue.

  Maharis held up two fingers. When he spoke, the shrill voice was grave, somber. “I am already in trouble, my princess. A magus is not allowed at any point to use his magic. Not only did I break the cardinal rule, punishable by severance from the source of jadu if caught by the Kalb, I also expended all the energy I’d stored up over weeks to help us escape.” He exhaled, spread his hands. “I’ve got nothing else to offer at the moment.”

  Slowly, Nuraya shook her head. “What good is an expended magus to me?”

  “An empty container might not sate the immediate thirst but can be refilled over time.”

  Nuraya slammed her fist on the table. Merchants craned their necks toward them. Mona shifted uncomfortably. “Speak plainly to me. Always.”

  The magus bowed his head.

  “Maharis,” said Mona, “what is this severance you speak of?”

  The magus coughed weakly. “Parting a magus from the source of all jadu. A punishment worse than death.”

  Nuraya rolled her eyes. “How long before you have your...” then realizing she could still be overheard even when they sat in a corner, leaned forward, “energy back again?”

  “A while,” replied the magus. “But… I dare not do anything for some time. The inquisitors of the Kalb would have detected the residue of my magic by now. Compelled by the Keeper of the Divide, they would soon be hunting me, if not already.”

  Keeper of the Divide. That was Abba’s title. A pang rose in her chest. The Keeper was no longer alive. And a man completely unsuited to the immense responsibility was on her wrong side.

  To divert her mind from the anger she seemed unable to do much about, Nuraya stared out the grimy windows. Qaura, a so-called historical town founded beside an ancient oasis that traders between Algaria and the Reratish Kingdom once used for rest, now comprised rotting, crumbling buildings along the pothole-ridden main road that cut through its center.

  Time had moved on and left behind its ravages. Famished horses pulled half-empty carts along the road. The bodies of the town’s locals were thin, their filthy faces gaunt and pinched.

  “I shouldn't be here,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose. The longing to be back at the Shahi Qilla twisted her heart. Hard to believe life could change so quickly: perfumed gardens and the pageantry and splendor of balls suddenly replaced by shock and loss and the drudgery of travel.

  “My princess,” came the magus’s voice. “We should perhaps keep on moving.”

  “Eh?” she asked, not turning away from the window.

  “We’re attracting attention. Too much of the sort that we do not need at the moment.”

  “Even this far from Algaria?” she asked. The words were meant to come out as a challenge. Instead, even to her ears, they sounded tired, drained of the vehemence that had been mounting these past two days.

  “Aye.”

  Nuraya sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. What would Abba do in this situation? She scoffed. Abba would never have been caught in this mess like she was. Daughter of the great father, she still had a way to go. Her eyes drifted toward the magus. What would it be like to possess power like this? To be able to wish away one’s issues and concerns through magic?

  The inn had fallen silent behind her. Too quiet, for she heard the doors slam open and the clear tap of boots over the loose gravel floor, getting closer each second.

  “My princess...” came Maharis’s warning just as Mona hissed.

  Frowning, Nuraya turned around.

  Five tall men loomed beside the table, their yellow turbans voluminous in the northern style even though they were a thousand miles from distant Kohkam. The man in the center was dark-skinned, roguishly handsome with locks of black hair spilling from underneath the turban, taller than the average Algarian man, a large scar running down his left cheek.

  “Let us be,” said Maharis, forcing a false strength into his words.

  The young man seemed to be their leader. He turned his steely brown eyes toward the magus. “We might…” Then, he tapped his fingernails on the table, his voice dropping lower. “But then, I do wonder what fine folks like you are doing in a place like this!”

  The magus raised his hand. “Those who wonder too much hasten their lolling tongues toward the mud.”

  “Very poetic!” declared the young man, flipping back the end of his yellow turban over the shoulder. “And entirely out of place for this fine establishment.” He turned his head to the side. “Wouldn't you agree, Rurik?”

  “Aye, Sahib Jinan,” nodded the plump man beside him, his patchy mustache scattered over his lips like unkempt weeds.

  Jinan shook his head in mock sadness, spread his hands. “See, already your language corrupts my simple men. Makes them talk all… fancy and sophisticated.”

  Nuraya unclenched her jaw, smashed the table with her right fist. Jinan and his men turned toward her in surprise. “As my servant said, you’ve no business accosting us. Be on your way!”

  There was iron in her words, none of the false bluster Maharis had attempted. Jinan blinked, confusion spreading on his face. Then he chuckled, leaned in, the large eyes scanning her face. “Not an accent one expects to find in a small, dusty town like this, eh Rurik?”

  “Right you are,” replied Rurik.

  “Nor these eyes,” said Jinan.

  “I’m not going to repeat myself again,” said Nuraya. Mona coughed and fidgeted with her hood. If that was a message for Nuraya, she didn’t care much for it

  For a long breath, the two of them glared at each other. Nuraya didn’t have much going for her at the moment. No soldiers to call up. No knights of the Sultan’s Body. No noble, chivalrous courtiers willing to throw themselves before the men in her honor. Just a magus who was spent for the moment. And an old friend who couldn’t stop trembling.

  But she was a princess of Istan, only daughter of the Iron Sultan, and she would not be cowed by the first rude man she came upon.

  Jinan’s grin faded even as his lips remained frozen in a half-curl. Rurik coughed and scratched his abdomen.

  Jinan blinked and shook his head, his eyes searching her face once more. More inquisitively this time. “Are you...” he said, the accent peeling away to reveal one she couldn't quite place. “Princess Nuraya?”

  Maharis hissed. Nuraya blinked. The words must have carried for other patrons of the inn stared at her now, their ears pricking at words they’d never have expected in their lifetimes.

  Not that they were wrong, Nuraya knew. They might be a hundred miles from Algaria, yet most of them would never have gotten through the fortified walls of the Shahi Qilla, much less gain the chance to behold the Princess of the Sultanate with their own eyes.

  She caught Mona shaking her head. Maharis coughed, shaking his head as well. They didn't want her to admit her identity. If she did, news of her sighting would travel, get the attention of Ahasan’s spies looking for her.

  But could one ever truly expect to hide the sun behind a flimsy cover of clouds?

  Nuraya inclined her chin. “I am indeed Nuraya of Istan. And now, I command you to leave us alone.”

  Jinan’s reaction wasn't what she had expected. He straightened, neither cowed by the declaration nor overly deferential. Instead, he chewed his lower lip.

  “By the Creator...” muttered Rurik, the plump man to his side.

  “Gods’
guts,” said the other companion, a man wide as a tree trunk and just as tough-looking.

  Maharis rose to his feet, drew out his sword with a flourish. “Begone, mercenaries!”

  “Mercenaries,” repeated Nuraya, not following the magus. Beside her, Mona hissed. Realization bloomed in her. Mona’s father was a trader, the favored target of bandits and mercenaries who roamed the trade routes, looking to prey upon the weak, the lonely. It made sense Mona had realized what she herself had failed to grasp immediately.

  “Looks like we’ve known each other for ages,” drawled Jinan, thumping his chest, offering an exaggerated, mocking bow.

  “You’re a band of unprincipled, thieving thugs!” Nuraya said, her voice dripping with derision.

  Jinan straightened, his right eyebrow arching. “That’s not right!” He pointed at Rurik. “We’re principled... aren’t we?”

  “Aye, Sahib.”

  “And has anyone ever blamed us for being thugs whenever we asked them?”

  “No, Sahib.”

  Jinan bared his teeth. “See?”

  “Step away from the princess!” shouted the magus, shaking his sword.

  Jinan’s men guffawed. “When was the last time you held anything larger than a dagger?” asked the taller man.

  “Back when the pari folk still roamed the earth,” offered Rurik.

  “I’m... going to cut you... down,” growled Maharis, his trembling hand belying the words.

  “We should go,” croaked Mona, reaching to grab Nuraya’s hand.

  Destinies of entire nations could be forged within an instant, Abba used to say. Even seething with anger at the disrespectful manner of the mercenaries, men Abba would’ve had hunted down like vermin in normal circumstances, she couldn't ignore the idea beginning to take form in her head.

  “My princess...” hissed Maharis. “Just give me the word.”

  “Just give me the word,” mocked Rurik, cocking his head to the side. His mates laughed, none of them bothering to unsheathe their own swords.

  Nuraya rose, her heart thudding inside her chest. With a smooth motion, she threw back the hood and looked Jinan in the eye. The bravado faded, a man meeting someone so far removed from his own station that words finally seemed to fail him.

  Nuraya smiled. “How many men do you command, mercenary salar?”

  Jinan licked his upper lip, the eyes darting between his and Maharis’s face. “Five hundred or so.”

  “Five hundred and thirteen,” agreed Rurik. “If one doesn’t count the usual wenches and their ilk following us.”

  Not enough. Nuraya shook her head, some of the initial excitement beginning to fade away. She turned her head, her eyes falling on the thin traffic outside the windows.

  Among the few flaws Algaria possessed, the biggest was the false sense of scale it presented to one’s senses. Everything was larger there, more valuable, greater than anything elsewhere in the world.

  Five hundred fighting men were worth nothing in Algaria. Useless for her purpose there.

  But elsewhere...

  “How many other mercenary salars do you know?” she asked.

  “Like stars to the moon, they know of me and my many exploits sung throughout the realm.”

  Maharis scoffed, waved his sword. “Never heard your name before.”

  “You need to be a star to know the moon,” countered Rurik, eliciting another round of chuckles.

  Nuraya placed a hand on the magus’s thin shoulder, waited until she had his and everyone’s attention. “It’s time we got on the road.” Then she turned toward Jinan. “All of us!”

  Chapter 13

  Shoki

  Shoki crept in closer to the fire, holding his hands out for warmth. Nights were a cooler affair in the Hobs province than Algaria, and his body wasn't used to the difference yet. Nor had he made peace with the absolute darkness that fell suddenly out in the countryside.

  Why in the worlds am I still traveling west?

  Shaking his head, Shoki squinted at his companion sitting silently on the forest floor, his long, unmoving shadow spilling out behind him. He might still be traveling west, but soon enough, he’d turn back for Algaria then hopefully never again cross paths with either the magi or inquisitors. Surely, Salar Ihagra would understand and let him leave the city guard without too much trouble.

  And what if I bump into Inquisitor Altamish Aboor again?

  Shoki’s breath caught. The inquisitor’s chest had been moving slowly when they had left him behind. He didn’t have a choice there, really. One couldn’t be expected to choose between a magus and an inquisitor. Except, now that he looked back at it all, one might confuse his instinct for self-preservation as the act of an accomplice.

  Would Salar Ihagra believe him?

  Morose, Shoki placed a dry twig into the fire and watched it begin to burn away. Kilmin, the small town two hours behind them had been engulfed with panic when they had visited it. The neighboring garrison town of Orsa was being emptied by some Istani prince. None of this was his concern except for the fact that there were no horses or caravans for him to join for the ride back to Algaria.

  The roads seemed busy enough with soldiers, though. Not a common occurrence when he had asked a farmer leading his donkey-cart laden with sugarcane. Maybe, with all these soldiers on the road, he could travel by himself without encountering bandits?

  As if triggered by the word, a memory of the bandit he had killed drifted up. Shoki sucked his teeth and felt his strength drain away.

  To his right, the magus adjusted his loincloth and rubbed his shining scalp with the back of his hand, thankfully not looking his way.

  A magus.

  A stab of awe ran down Shoki’s spine as he considered what fate had thrown his way. Any other son of a blacksmith would have spent all his life in the Mercantile quarter, his days consumed in the forge, the nights tending to bawling children and a never satisfied wife. And yet, here he was, someone who had spent seven months in the diwan-e-aam, had not just seen the Istani sultan but conversed with him and his ministers. One who’d traveled with an inquisitor and a magus then fled the djinn.

  Perhaps, these tales would eventually make for interesting discussions, but, for now, recalling them brought terror, the feeling of utter helplessness.

  Grabbing another twig, Shoki stoked the burning logs. Was it possible for the djinn to find them tonight?

  He squeezed his eyes shut. If only he’d had the power to say no when others thrust responsibilities on him that he wasn’t made to bear. He longed for Salar Ihagra’s scorn if it meant he could trade away the throbbing in his toes, the ever-present fear in his gut.

  He’d hated the horse Salar Ihagra had given him for his ride out of Algaria. Now he wished the damned beast would have stayed when the djinn had attacked them in the forest. Chafing thighs were a much better alternative than blistered, bloodied feet.

  The fire crackling softly beside him, Shoki found his eyelids drooping. He sighed and stretched out his hands and feet toward the warmth. The night was unusually quiet. If this part of the Istani realm housed any night birds or rabbits, they seemed to shy from their company.

  His mind drifted once more, toward the many regrets in his life. Far too many to count, so instead they felt like a yoke pulling him down.

  When was the last time he’d exchanged even two words with a girl his age? Even asked one for directions? He shook his head sadly. Would that ever change?

  Again, Princess Nuraya’s face swam up. He choked, feeling a strange, vise-like feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. What would it be like to have someone so perfect, so refined, so beautiful as one’s companion? What would it be like to have someone like her beside a fire in the middle of the night, out in the wilderness?

  He felt himself stiffen, a pleasant tingling spreading through his extremities.

  The logs crackled, and he snapped out of the fantasy. The next town they got to, he was going to have to do something about his lack of experience w
ith women. After all, Algaria could not be the only city to house… institutions that might rectify his lack of experience.

  A red hot, familiar wave of shame washed over him as he failed to dispel the pleasant fantasies.

  The magus coughed and Shoki turned toward him. Mara didn’t stir, still sitting silently. His heart suddenly beating very hard, Shoki surveyed the night sky. Still dark. No balls of fire. Yet. Licking his lips, he recalled the image of the magus standing tall, defiant as the fireballs descended from the heavens, hurtling toward them.

  What did the magus seek? The question rose once more. One he itched to ask but dared not.

  Another worrying idea came next. Could the magi read minds?

  Mara coughed, and Shoki almost jumped out of his skin.

  “Something on your mind?” asked Mara, his deep voice reverberating against Shoki’s chest.

  “Erm...” Shoki licked his lips, eyes flitting at the shadows in the trees beyond the clearing. “D-do you think we’ve outrun the djinn?”

  If the magus knew Shoki was trying to steer the topic away from what he’d really been thinking about, he didn’t mention it. “I think so. For now, anyway.”

  “And... would...”

  “Go on.”

  Cursing himself for tying himself up in more knots of his own making, Shoki cleared his throat. “Will the inquisitor be alright?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Who had been attacking them? Shoki considered asking the question again, decided it could wait a bit.

  The magus coughed. Some beast rumbled in the east. Startled, Shoki turned toward the direction. But the magus seemed at ease. Shoki licked his lips, once more torn between the urge to flee or to hide behind someone as powerful as the magus.

  He chuckled softly to himself. There was no running. If he were to flee, he’d get lost in the woods. Assuming the beast didn't make a meal of him first.

  No, he had to stay as long as he could with the magus until he found a caravan heading to Algaria. Until then, he just had to keep his tongue, ensure he didn't get on the wrong side of the magus.

  Twigs snapped, and a shadow emerged briefly from the underbrush. Shoki yelped. It growled, then leapt at another shadow. Sounds of two bodies thrashing floated up followed by guttural sounds that made the hairs on his arms to rise.