Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  Shoki waited, his limbs coiled, ready to sprint.

  No shadows pounced toward them though.

  Shoki swallowed and felt a bead of sweat run down his back. As the immediate danger passed, other dangerous thoughts took hold. All his life, he’d been told to control his tongue, the one part of him hell-bent on landing him in trouble. Yet, despite knowing all that, questions kept bubbling up, struggling to burst past his pathetic restraints.

  Dangerous questions, he knew. Stuff one ought not to probe, especially knowing what could follow from there.

  He lost the fight.

  “Why did you attack Altamish?” Shoki blurted out.

  The magus remained quiet, his shadow still, even in the firelight.

  Shoki coughed then rubbed his hands on his cheeks. Truth be told, he hadn't liked the inquisitor—the man had made for a terrible traveling companion, easily irritable, demanding—yet, the sultan himself had ordered them together.

  And now that man was gone. And he, a city guard, had turned his back, made off with a magus. A clear case of dereliction of duty. Shoki chewed on his lower lip so hard he felt it bleed.

  “He would have stopped me from my mission,” came Mara’s deep, faraway voice.

  “Huh? What mission?”

  The magus inclined his chin. No words passed between them, but Shoki shuddered. Flinching, he turned away.

  “I need to help my city,” said the magus. “Find out what ails it.”

  “Your city? Has the unrest following the sultan’s death spread there as well?”

  Mara chuckled, rubbing his hands together. A perfectly normal movement, yet something about the picture in front of Shoki didn't make sense. Something he was meant to see, but just couldn't. Shoki shook his head, convinced being on the constant run had addled his mind.

  “Nothing like that.”

  Shoki raised an eyebrow. “That city you referred—”

  The magus rose, dusting off his loincloth. He bent to grab the rucksack, the shadow stretching out to the distant trees. Shoki eyed the rucksack with some trepidation. Did he carry any more of those artifacts, the Asghar, in there to aid his magic?

  “We need to keep moving,” said the magus. “Pack up!”

  “Surely, if the djinn aren't—” protested Shoki.

  “Before Altamish catches up with us.”

  Shoki stared at the man, and the rucksack’s shadow dancing in tune with the flames. “I thought... that—”

  “He’s got my scent,” said the magus. “And he’s got extra cause to give chase.”

  “So… he is not dead!” exclaimed Shoki. Relief spread through his limbs. At least, he wouldn’t be held accountable for the death of an inquisitor. At the end of the day, dereliction of duty wasn’t an offense one paid for by hanging.

  “Get up!”

  Grumbling, Shoki forced himself up. All grumbling aside, at least the magus didn't seem inclined to maintain the breakneck pace the inquisitor had been setting. “M-magus...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are we heading west? If it’s help you seek, no place better than the capital.” He gesticulated toward the left. Was that the east? Didn't matter. “Once we get to the capital, there—”

  “What I seek isn't in the largest congregations of your people.”

  Shoki opened his mouth just as another low growl came from the forest. He jumped. Then, pulling the vest tight around him, wishing he had picked some appropriate gear for the weather, he tramped toward the magus. The fire, burning weakly behind him, cast his flickering shadow ahead of him. It stretched out, moving, dancing, beside the magus’s still, unmoving one.

  Shoki froze.

  Congregations of your people?

  Why had he never heard the name of Nainwa, the city the magus claimed to be from? Breath catching in his chest, he looked ahead at the shadows.

  His mouth dry as sand, Shoki turned to the magus. He tried raising his left hand. When it failed, he tried the right in vain. Instead, he settled by clearing his throat, a cold chill spreading in his veins.

  “Y-y-you...”

  Mara Carsa cocked his head to the side. A thoroughly normal reaction, yet the unnaturalness of it set the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

  “Y-your s-shadow... d-doesn't move...”

  The magus with the strange accent and the unmoving shadow stared back. A wave of terror washed over Shoki, leaving him shaking like a dry leaf in the middle of the monsoon season.

  Run!

  Run!

  Run!

  He would have obeyed the voice if only his feet hadn't been cast in stone.

  Mara was still watching him, the corners of his mouth curled downward. More beasts rumbled in the forest. Shoki wasn't sure anymore which he feared more: the predators lurking in the shadows, or the... being in front of him.

  “When I was young,” said Shoki, his voice a wheezy squawk, “Mother would tell tales of mythical beings that came to visit the mortal lands and carry out fantastic deeds. Tales of the djinn... who took on human shape. Almost perfect except... except for the shadows that didn't move the way humans did.”

  The magus took a step forward. Then another. Shoki’s heart leapt to his throat. Again, the voice screamed in his mind. Run! Run! Run!

  “Y-you’re... a... djinn!” Shoki whispered, not believing the words coming out of his own mouth.

  The being that had taken the name Mara Carsa smiled. Shoki blanched, tried turning his face, lacked the strength to do even that.

  “Wasn't expecting you to figure it out,” said the scholar who’d turned out to be a magus who in fact was a djinn.

  “I… o-often get l-lucky with my intuition.”

  The magus, the djinn took another step closer. “How good are you at keeping secrets?”

  “G-great,” replied Shoki, the affirmation blurting out before he’d even had the chance to think it through. “They… die within my chest like… embers of a doused fire, I assure you!”

  Mara was close enough that Shoki could see the veins in his face. The false human face.

  “I do not like killing.”

  Shoki swallowed. “A m-most noble d-disposition.” He peeled back his lips in what he hoped appeared a reassuring grin and not a man flinching from death. “L-leave me here and I won’t tell a soul.”

  Twigs snapped in the distance and Shoki squeezed his eyes shut. Why was all this happening to him?

  “Or,” Shoki squeaked, unable to think straight, “t-take me with you until the next s-stop and leave me there.”

  Mara kept quiet, his chest no longer rising and falling as Shoki’s own did. Perfectly, unnaturally still. The eyes didn't blink either, the glamor no longer needed to hide the truth from Shoki.

  The magus clicked his tongue. “Very well. Until the next stop. Then, you and I go our separate ways.”

  Shoki exhaled, feeling cool relief spread through his limbs. “Great plan. B-best I ever heard.”

  The djinn turned and began to walk away.

  “W-wait for me!” Shoki called out, pulling the rucksack close to his chest. His fingers brushed against cool, hard metal. The dagger Altamish had given him. One that had already tasted blood once. Could a djinn die like an ordinary man?

  “Are you coming?” came the djinn’s voice and Shoki blinked, his fingers falling away from the dagger.

  “Aye.”

  The djinn was heading down the eastern trail that wound into the dark woods. Panic rising in his chest, Shoki jogged to catch up with him.

  “Keep close unless you want to get lost,” said the djinn. He stopped to take a look at the tall treetops around them. “Only a little while since my last visit and already your damned people have changed everything.”

  “A l-little while...” Shoki stammered. Djinn were said to live for centuries. How long had this little while been?

  The djinn continued onward. Shoki followed, more questions bubbling in his mind, despite the voice in his heart urging him to flee.


  “Mara... t-the talk about your city... Is it really in trouble?”

  “Aye,” replied the djinn.

  “What happened?”

  Mara didn't reply immediately, trudging forward with unnatural ease. “My city is ailing, my people dying. I seek a cure.”

  “A cure...”

  “None of your problem. At sunrise, you and I part ways.”

  Shoki nodded, his mind full of troubled, worrying thoughts.

  Chapter 14

  Nuraya

  Nuraya stood up in the stirrups and turned around, ignoring the cramps in her lower stomach. The sight of seven hundred horses cantering behind her filled her chest with pride. Dust, thick and heavy, rose behind her army of mercenaries coloring the bucolic countryside in its own image.

  Some villagers, dressed in the high-necked shirts they preferred in the Nikhtun province, gaped at them from a safe distance. Too far removed for them to realize an Istani princess rode past them. Too far for her to hear their cries of whoops and joy for the princess who had given up the comforts of Shahi Qilla for the noble cause of freeing their queen.

  She settled back on the saddle. Vengeance snorted, his neck lathered, the reins in her fingers sweaty. To her left, Mona grunted, her charger easily keeping up with her horse.

  Nuraya turned to her right. “Each day, we grow stronger!”

  Jinan Hoshbar, the mercenary salar nodded, the smug, self-satisfied grin still plastered on his face. Did the man ever not smile? “Before long, the entire east will ride with you, my princess,” he shouted back. Bringing the fingers of his right hand to his lips, he kissed them and bowed his head. “Anything for the daughter of the sultan.”

  The magus rode on a gray horse just behind him, his face pale. He snorted with derision. “Keep your flattery for those who can’t see past this charade.”

  Jinan chuckled, didn’t bother with a reply. He turned his head back, scowled at a group of mercenaries behind him.

  “Sahib,” shouted Rurik, the mercenary salar’s second in command. “Did we have to take Vishan’s brood of misfits as well?”

  “We didn’t.”

  “Then why—”

  “Numbers can be useful.”

  Rurik blinked. “Well, unless they keep their mouths shut, they’ve got a hard beating coming their way.”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn,” said Jinan. “Right after I’m done with Vishan first.”

  Vishan, one of the mercenary salars that had joined up with them yesterday rode some fifteen yards behind them, too far to be within earshot. Yet, somehow sensing the topic of their conversation, he turned his head toward them, his bulbous nose flaring. His thin lips moved, but she heard nothing over the men’s cackling.

  Nuraya exhaled. Men and women occupied the same world, and yet they didn't. A lesson her mother was wont to repeat when she was growing up. She was only now beginning to see it.

  Though these men spoke the same Nirdu as her, accented as theirs was, the manner in which they addressed each other was something she’d never experienced before.

  Gone were the courtly and refined slights, insults hurled through minor infractions of courtesy. These men didn't bother hiding anything. What they felt, they let it all out. A refreshing if somewhat annoying trait.

  “Your stomach any better, Rurik?” shouted Jinan, his handsome features twisting into mock worry. “Or are you still going to be stinking up the latrine pits?”

  The plump man shrugged, replied in the easy talk of a man well-used to shouting over horseback, “Riding loosens the bowels, Father used to swear. Some real wisdom there, I tell you. Last night—” his eyes fell over to Nuraya. Mouth hanging wide open, he blinked, caught between wanting to complete the sentence, and not wishing to disrespect his princess.

  As Nuraya turned away in disgust, she caught sight of Mona shaking her head, riding beside the plump man. Rurik must have gotten the message, for he coughed, the repulsive tale dying within his chest even as Jinan exchanged a smile with Mona.

  Men!

  “My princess,” shouted Jinan, bringing his warhorse next to her. “I don’t remember if I mentioned this or not, but the local ameer isn’t quite... erm... appreciate of my line of work.”

  “Any ameer would be glad to see the likes of you behind bars, if not happier seeing the head parted from the body,” shouted back Maharis.

  “That’s not very nice!” grunted Rurik. Nuraya whipped her head around once more, relishing the breeze blowing up against her cheeks. Rurik grimaced, his brows furrowing as if struggling to come up with a suitably witty reply, a finger raised toward Maharis. “Well, you’re old!”

  Nuraya rolled her eyes. Maharis wasn't even that much older than Rurik himself, even if he moved like one in his seventh decade.

  Jinan clicked his tongue, grinning at both his man and the magus. “Worry not, Princess. So long as my men accompany you, the world shall never underestimate you.”

  She threw her head back, laughed. “A lioness isn’t respected or feared on account of the hyenas accompanying her.”

  Jinan’s eyes widened, hardened. Nuraya braced herself. Power was a mirage, Abba used to say. If one gave in the first time someone tried to breach it, one ended up with nothing.

  The hardness melted on Jinan’s face even if it left his lips pursed. “As you say, my princess.”

  “Good,” she said, turning back to the winding trail ahead of them. Over the past two hours or so, the road had widened, busier with merchants carrying goods across the sultanate.

  Nuraya frowned, cast an eye at the caravan that had been swept off the road to make way for them. She had seen many groups as they kept heading west—merchants, villagers, local farmers, small groups of travelers.

  She still hadn’t seen a group she’d been fearing bumping into.

  Nuraya pulled back her reins, slowing down to a trot. Maharis pulled up beside her. “Where are all the soldiers?”

  The magus shrugged. Despite the many days since their flight from Algaria, he still looked famished, each movement pained and difficult. Was he trying to save more power for when it might be required? “I don’t know, my princess.”

  “You only need ask and I’ll get you the answers,” came the smug voice of the mercenary salar. Jinan pulled up beside her. Maharis scowled at him, but the salar didn’t seem fazed.

  “Well?” she demanded, turning away from him, swallowing the urge to slap the pompous bastard until the grin washed away.

  Letting the reins go, he spread his hands dramatically. “Ameer Sadar Zakhtun, your uncle, seems to have decided he wants to remain neutral in the succession war. Most of his forces remain—”

  “The succession war?” she interrupted him sharply.

  “Isn’t this what they call times like these?” Jinan turned his face toward the magus and shrugged.

  “Is Kinas really going to fight Ahasan?” she asked, her voice low, her heart already knowing the answer.

  “My princess... the history of your family is replete—” began Maharis, then fell away silent when she raised her hand.

  “None of my concern what those two do. All I care for is Mother and an apology from Ahasan. We continue to ride west until we arrive at Buzdar.”

  The salar exchanged a glance with Rurik who had ridden up to join them. Rurik groaned audibly. She didn't deign to respond to him, thoughts roiling in her mind. She had a rabble, far from the mighty horde she had expected to build as she continued to ride west. They had come upon garrisons of course, soldiers she had been counting to recruit to her side but had instead found them drained of both men and resources. Either Ahasan or Kinas had already sent messengers, commanding them to join forces, all in preparation for the… succession war.

  What would her uncle say when she turned up to his castle with this rabble? Mercenaries that knew no master, had no sense of loyalty, obeyed no law except that of the coin. Would he ever contribute his men to her cause based on the company she was keeping?

  She didn�
��t have any choice in the matter, of course.

  He’s my uncle, she told herself. Ahasan and Kinas were nothing to him, whereas she was the only daughter of his only sister that had been imprisoned unjustly. He would listen to reason and would help her free her mother.

  Mona rode up as Jinan peeled to the side. A breath later, Maharis joined her on the other side.

  They rode in relative silence for half a mile. Then, Maharis cleared his throat. “Can you really trust the ameer?”

  “Of course,” she replied, almost too quickly. “He’s my blood.”

  “Blood has a habit of losing its color when it thins.”

  “Magus, careful what you insinuate,” she growled.

  He chewed on his lower lip, eyes flitting between her and the horizon. He looked pensive, thin hair plastered to his skull, grimacing as his horse kept pace with hers.

  “Maharis…” she said after a few minutes had passed. The magus turned his eyes toward her. Nuraya drew in a long breath, the weight of what she was going to say choking her. She knew it was wrong of her to even think these thoughts. But wasn’t she short of options here, her back pressed against the wall? Didn’t every good siphsalar, leader of men, consider any option that could help obtain victory?

  “Princess?” enquired the magus.

  She shuddered and raised her chin, feeling her heartbeat quicken. “This… magic you command. Is this something you could… teach to an initiate?” Then she shook her head, the duplicity in her words sickening her. “Could you… teach me how to wield jadu?”

  The magus didn't respond immediately. She felt a trickle of sweat slither down her back, the peshwaz already worn and dirty with the constant traveling.

  Looking around as if to make sure no one could overhear him, he shook his head. “This is not possible. No person your age can learn magic. If one hasn't shown aptitude as a toddler, then they are not cursed by the Creator with the taint of magic.”

  “But—”