by Fuad Baloch
Shoki swallowed, unable to fight off the intoxicating thought of traveling with the beautiful princess. Surprising how soon his mind had forgotten all the pain and terrors of traveling once his eyes had settled on her again. How soon he had ended up shelving all plans for heading back home if it meant sharing the company of the Istani princess.
“Just the way I left it,” boomed a familiar voice over the general din and chatter of the mercenaries.
Startled, Shoki wheeled around, and ended up spurring the horse by mistake. Thankfully, this horse seemed to care as little for his commands as had the first one. Instead of breaking into a canter as it should have, it merely snorted in derision.
The djinn smirked as he pulled up his mare beside him. Shoki’s skin crawled. “What’s the matter, boy?”
Shoki rolled his eyes, emboldened by the company of others around him. “Gods’ guts, you’re a...” he turned his head to make sure no one could overhear them, “a djinn, walking beside an Istani princess as the succession war looms. You’re also trying to escape an inquisitor who might very well blame me even when I had no part in what you did to him! What part of that should I not worry about?”
The djinn didn't reply, his eyes focused on the approaching city walls.
“Actually,” said Shoki, raising a hand. “Not my problem. The moment we’re inside the walls, I’m… yes… I’m going to look for a caravan heading back to Algaria and be on my way.”
“You do that.”
Shoki chewed on his lower lip, scanned the fading sunlight. The mercenaries he traveled with had shared quite a few tales about the state of the roads between here and the capital which had done nothing to stem his already flagging resolve. “Or perhaps, first thing in the morning. Can’t be good to travel in the night.”
“Fine.”
Shoki rounded at the magus. A foolish act, yet one he couldn't control. “You know, for a... so-called scholar, you surely aren't a man of many words.”
“True.”
Grunting, Shoki looked away. What was the point in arguing with the djinn anyway? Wasn’t like he would understand the struggles an out-of-place city guard felt. Besides, he’d be soon on his way back to Algaria, supping with his mother and father within the fortnight.
Princess or no, he had to get back.
The thought of his parents worrying about him knotted his insides. Unlike the djinn, the mercenaries liked to talk. Unrest had spread across the Sultanate. A usual thing that seemingly happened every time a sultan passed away without leaving a clear line of succession. Entire armies were swarming roads leading to the capital as each prince tried to summon forces loyal to him. Garrison fortresses and castles had been decimated, giving further strength to local unrest there.
None of that really mattered to Shoki. His concerns were simpler, more straightforward. Head back to Algaria before it became impossible, find his parents, help them stand off this period of uncertainty, then hope and pray he never ended up seeing the inquisitor ever again.
The mercenaries shared none of his worries. They saw a period where their kind would thrive, profiteer. People like Shoki and his parents were the ants that none of the marauding elephant armies cared for. If they got crushed, more would take their place. If they survived, nothing would change except their masters.
Hearing a commotion, he craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Princess Nuraya. Decked in a bright green scarf and purple peshwaz, she sat upright on the saddle, surrounded by four large war horses. Mona, her lady-in-waiting rode just behind to one side. Jinan, the mercenary salar rode on her other side. Maharis, the old courtier trailed just behind them.
Maharis. Rumors held the man was a magus, one who was on the run from inquisitors. The mercenaries whispered excitedly about the man, shared fantastical tales of magi, the abominations they’d always talked about but seldom encountered in real life.
Shoki exhaled. He’d had enough of magi to last a lifetime.
The princess turned her head back. Shoki froze, his heart suddenly beating painfully in his chest. No matter how preposterous the idea, his heart yearned to be beside her, to hold her, to set his eyes upon her luminescent face and never ever look away. She raised a delicate hand, the gold bangle on the wrist catching the sun for a second and said something to Mona who nodded.
Shoki couldn't look away. What would it be like to be that bangle? Forever next to the most beautiful woman in the world, brushing against her skin, caressing her cheeks when she slept, witnessing her as she... disrobed and bathed?
Again, he felt himself stiffen at the same time a rush of shame and guilt washed over him.
An ant! he reminded himself. That was all he was. Those who stared at the bright sun too long ended up getting blinded.
Yet, he couldn't look way. The frilly lace on her peshwaz fluttered lightly in the wind. He sat up tall on his saddle, eyes arrested by the gold locket the swayed between her breasts pushed up by the tight fabric that hid all skin and yet left little to imagination.
Shoki licked his lips, coughed into his hands, forced himself to finally turn from the princess. All immoral acts they committed aside, men of Nikhtun seemed perfectly willing to criticize another man’s lascivious eye, and Shoki had no interest in attracting any more attention to him.
When he inclined his chin again, the sea of bobbing heads had swallowed the princess. Next to him, the djinn chuckled. Feeling his cheeks blush, he made it a point not to look at him.
Cheering broke out. Clenching his jaw, Shoki stood up on the stirrups. They were almost at the gates now, towers and turrets rising over the fifty-feet-tall stone walls. The iron facade of the barbican seemed monstrous this close, bedecked with strangely carved figures that looked a mix between a tiger and some venomous snake, etched on crenellations and buttresses along its length.
A young nobleman, wearing shimmering blue robes and a matching turban, rode out from the gate, streamers trailing from his horse. Though the soldiers manning the guards remained stony-faced, the rider beamed.
Shoki felt the inexplicable need to get close. He tried resisting it, but like an urgent itch that wouldn’t go away until scratched, it persisted. He caved. Spurring his horse forward, he held up a hand in mock excuse. “Apologies, the h-horse... it doesn't listen to me!”
A few breaths and grumbling mercenaries later, he reined his horse in on a slightly elevated patch of ground that gave him a better view.
“Good to see you, cousin,” declared the nobleman in a thin shrill voice, the ends of his groomed mustache curled up. He bowed his head.
“Likewise, Cousin Azrar,” replied Princess Nuraya, her voice carrying easily as the sea of men watched them in silence. Shoki blinked. Despite the hard traveling, the princess looked every bit the royalty she was, resplendent, magnificent, easily outshining the nobleman, preened head to toe.
Preened to perfection!
For an heir to the Ameer of Nikhtun, an area known for producing hard men, Azrar seemed a better fit for the harems of the Shahi Qilla. Not that Shoki had ever seen such places.
“Cousin,” declared Azrar Zakhtun, “Father would be most delighted if you would take residence with us in the Red Fort.”
The princess offered a regal nod. “Absolutely.”
“Excellent,” replied Azrar, then threw open his arms toward the bustling city behind the barbican. “The city of Buzdar is honored to welcome you into her embrace.”
The tall mercenary salar whispered something into the princess’s ear. A shot of irrational jealousy ran through Shoki.
Nuraya nodded. “Jinan, get your men to report to the local city guards. I’m sure my uncle, the Ameer of Nikhtun would ensure they’re well provisioned.”
Azrar licked his lips. “These… erm… mercenaries—”
“They are my men, and I trust Nikhtun knows how to look after her guests,” cut in the princess, gesturing to Jinan. The mercenary salar grinned, one hand rising to the drooping turban that never seemed to sit still over his greasy h
air, then he peeled away, shouting at his men to follow him.
The princess stayed with the ameer’s son. Mona and Maharis remained beside her as well as the mercenaries began marching toward a postern gate to the left, beyond which Shoki could see tents and cook pots.
His horse snorted. Shoki kept the reins firmly pulled in. He wasn't a mercenary, but a city guard. There was no business for him beside Jinan’s men. As the mercenaries continued to stream past him, more guards posted at the gates glared at him, more archers looking down.
The djinn didn’t join the mercenaries either. Jinan cast an evil glare at both of them before joining his men.
“That man is trouble,” noted the djinn.
“Aye,” replied Shoki, unable to mask his personal hatred of the smarmy man for the close company he enjoyed with the princess.
The princess’s friend said something softly. Nuraya tittered just as the other girl broke out into giggles as well. Shoki stared open-mouthed. It was the same laugh that had captivated him the first time.
As Nuraya turned her head, her eyes fell upon him and the djinn. Maharis leaned toward the princess and said something Shoki couldn't hear from the distance.
“I need to talk with my men for a while,” Nuraya told Azrar, who offered a meek nod as she spurred her horse.
Shoki’s heart thrashed as the princess rode toward him. He swallowed, a cold sweat breaking out over his face. Realizing his fingers were digging into his palms, he forced them to relax.
Don’t act weird!
Then another thought crossed over his mind. Was she coming to enquire about the mission the sultan had given him? Had Maris grown suspicious over the story the djinn and he had concocted? Would she be asking what happened to the Kalb inquisitor? Worse, had they found Altamish?
Fear and panic rose in him now. He craned his neck back. If he turned the horse...
Shoki shook his head. One wrong move and the archers would make a bee’s nest in his pathetic chest.
The princess came to a stop, her eyes flitting from his face to the djinn’s. “My servant there,” she pointed at the frail Maharis, “seems to think you’re not telling me the whole truth.”
“And what truth might that be?” asked the djinn, his deep voice unruffled.
The princess scowled. “I do not mind gathering trinkets even if they might not have any immediate value, but one thing I cannot abide is dishonesty.”
Shoki gulped, his eyes transfixed on her lips, the rising chest, the slight flush creeping over her face. Never had he felt so torn before the simultaneous urge to kiss those perfect lips and flee.
The djinn obviously felt no such qualms. “Ask me what you will, and I shall answer.”
Shoki blinked. She was here for the djinn. Not for him. Relief flooded through his veins. Exhaling, he watched the princess. So young. So beautiful. His eyes drifted down from the lovely dark face, to the locket swaying over her chest. He blushed and averted his eyes. Just the act of witnessing her felt like a blasphemous act against beauty.
“Scholar or not, are you a magus?” asked the princess, her tone straightforward, direct.
Shoki stiffened.
“Aye,” replied the djinn after the briefest of hesitations. Shoki blanched.
Nuraya stared at Mara’s face for a long breath. Then, she raised a hand. Shoki swallowed. If there was ever the time to flee, this was it. Maharis spurred his horse forward, pulled over beside the princess.
“He acknowledges the charge,” said Nuraya, her voice soft, calm.
Maharis coughed, the eyes never settling long at any spot underneath the purple turban he wore. “The sun cannot hide under the blanket of clouds.”
“Magus,” said Nuraya, her voice suddenly cold. “Are you on the run from the Kalb inquisitors?”
Mara snorted. “No.”
“Were you involved in the matters at Ghulamia?”
At that charge, Shoki flinched, turned to watch Mara’s face. Could it be possible? Again, the djinn laughed, spread his hands. “What matters?”
For a long breath, the princess stared at Mara, who returned it in equal measure. She snapped her fingers. “Maharis, ask what you have to.”
Maharis nodded, peered at Mara. “What kind of magus are you?”
Mara rolled the fat rings on his stubby fingers. “Zyadi.”
“Ah. And what matter are you attuned to?”
“When was the last time you cheated on your wife?”
Maharis’s nostrils flared. “W-well... I... nev—”
“Princess,” said Mara Carsa, the djinn with the human name and face. “I’ve answered your question. Anything more is where I draw a line. What one can and cannot do is not information magi share readily, even with their own folk.”
The princess’s eyes narrowed, glared at the djinn. Finally, inclining her chin, she kicked her horse, bringing her even closer. Shoki caught a glimpse of the effeminate Azrar shift in his saddle, left with just Mona. “I need you to teach me magic.” She pointed at Maharis who scowled. “He’s tried and failed. Maybe what I require is a Zyadi magus and not a Jaman.”
Shoki felt his eyes widen. Why in the worlds would a princess of Istan ever want to dabble in the nefarious arts of these abominations?
Mara shook his head, smirking. “It doesn't work like that, girl. One is either born with magic, the power to attune to it, or not. Had you only ever seen eight summers, I’d have said you were too old. At this age, if you’ve not exhibited the signs, you’re not meant for it.”
“No one says what I can or cannot do,” she growled. “Do you understand that?”
Mara shrugged. “Doesn't change anything.”
A long, awkward moment passed. Shoki fidgeted with the reins. One more conversation he was not meant to be a part of. One more he could not tear himself away from.
The silence stretched. Shoki’s stomach growled. Wincing, he cleared his throat. “Erm...”
Three sets of eyes settled on his face. He wilted. He’d never been able to take charge of his wayward tongue that continued to spout the wrong things at the wrong moment.
“Well?” asked Maharis, his shrill voice annoyed.
Shoki swallowed. “I’m... erm... hungry.”
Princess Nuraya, the only daughter of the great Sultan Anahan burst into laughter. Shoki blinked, feeling his cheeks redden.
“Truth be told, so am I,” she said. The grin stayed one more second, then disappeared. She pointed at the direction the mercenaries had gone. “Jinan mentioned some displaced people have arrived from the capital. There’d be food there too.”
“P-people from the capital?” Shoki nodded. His stomach growled again. “I… should… erm… take my leave?”
“Aye,” hissed Maharis, then waved a hand toward the djinn. “As for you—”
“I’ve got an inn-keep who owes me some favors.”
Shoki felt torn. Maharis, the man who admittedly had to be a magus if he could somehow recognize Mara for who he was, had given him permission to leave, but shouldn’t he wait for the princess’s order?
“Magus,” said the princess. “I’m not used to people turning me down. I will call for you.” Then she turned her horse round, clicked her heels. Maharis glared at them for another breath before he too turned away.
The ameer’s son smiled, raised his hand.
Beyond the barbican, a trumpet blared joined by drums, kicking off a tune Shoki had heard many a time when passing the Sultan’s Body garrison on his way to the Shahi Qilla.
“Hope you like it,” shouted Azrar over the militaristic tune. “I had to fight my father for this.”
The princess merely nodded. Then, accompanied by Azrar, her friend, and the magus, the daughter of the late Iron Sultan rode into the city.
Shoki remained frozen in place even when she had vanished beyond the gates. The djinn chuckled. “Watch yourself.” He whistled and his horse headed for the main gate as well.
“Watch yourself,” mocked Shoki under his breath, then
turned his horse toward the postern gate.
No one challenged him as he crossed the gate and entered the city. He gaped. The city teemed with men and women dressed in a multitude of colorful scarves and hats and fashions too risqué for the capital. The gate had led him into a poor-looking suburb but even that looked a damned sight better than his at Algaria.
Beyond the minarets and domes and ziggurats, a hill the shape of an armored fist rose from the center of the city. Atop it, stood the Red Hill, a massive square castle made of red bricks that had been pulled from some quarry near the river Baina. Not as large as the Shahi Qilla, but just as majestic in its own way. A castle fit for a sultan. Fit for his daughter.
At the grumbling coming from his abdomen, Shoki tore away from the sightseeing. He hailed a soldier in the purple livery of the ameer.
“What?” snarled the young jawan, acne covering his features.
“W-where are the refugees from the capital?”
The jawan cast an eye at his clothes, then shrugged. “Head west. You’ll find your people there.”
“Our people,” corrected Shoki. The jawan arched an eyebrow and Shoki clamped his jaw. No sense wasting time explaining they were all the same people when his stomach called out for attention.
He followed the winding trail the soldier had pointed. To the right, he spied the mercenaries gathering around cook pots. A couple called for him, but Shoki continued walking.
Another two hundred yards and a putrid stench of unwashed bodies and rotten foods assailed him. Clamping his nostrils, he walked into a walled-off area of tattered tents. Human refuse and debris overflowed the thin alley that cut between the tents. Gingerly, he stepped in.
At each step, groans and cries met him. Terrified, resigned faces looked up. Refugees, the ameer’s son had called them. People fleeing in order to seek refuge. From what? How bad had the situation really gotten?
A woman shouted at a screaming teenager running out in front of Shoki. A familiar voice. One he’d heard all his life. Shoki froze, turned to right. “Sahiba Gohara Bano?”
A woman burst out of the tent to his right, a bread kneader in one hand, the wizened face scowling. She stuttered to a stop. “Shoki!”