Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  And what a point she did make!

  Shoki shook his head once more, recalling the first time he had seen her. A fragile little thing, he had considered her then. How had things changed since.

  His eyes met the djinn’s cold, unblinking ones. Flinching, Shoki turned away. A crow cawed overhead, setting two robins fluttering away. Despite the distance they’d put between them and the city over these past two days, Buzdar still loomed in the distance, its magnificent walls watching them retreat into the rolling land eastward.

  Laughs floated up from the hastily erected tents. Most mercenaries were going to spend yet another night under the stars, but it still surprised Shoki how many had managed to haul enough tents to form a little village of tents with the largest one set aside for Nuraya and her friend who seemed to keep to herself.

  Shoki chuckled ruefully. The world had changed in more ways than one. A mere two days and these men didn't think of themselves as ordinary mercenaries anymore. Sultana’s Hands is what they had been named by the newly minted sultana herself, a declaration that had made them thump their swollen chests and believe themselves warriors the likes of which Istan had never seen before.

  A lot had changed except for his circumstances.

  He was still just as lost, just as broken as he had been before the battle. A massive contrast to her. Where he had wilted, crumpled under the strain and pressure of the world, the princess had ended up reforging herself.

  His gaze fell once more upon the Istani sultana sitting with her eyes closed, her arms still held high, then settled on the perfect lips.

  Look away. Look away!

  He couldn't. The gods had at last brought him close, no matter how temporarily, to their perfect creation, and the least he could do was to appreciate it.

  Painful thoughts rose from the dredges of his memory. The kindly face of his mother as she fixed him a hearty meal of potatoes and beef stew after his first day’s training under Salar Ihagra. The look of immense pride on his father’s face as he tried to wield the massive blacksmith’s hammer for the first time at the tender age of eight.

  All memories of people who weren't what he’d thought all his life.

  Gone forever now under the mud.

  “You’re not teaching me properly,” complained Nuraya.

  “A round peg cannot go in a square hole,” countered the djinn. With a grunt, he sat down on the stump of an ancient tree and cracked his knuckles.

  “I am going to learn magic.”

  “Girl, can you fly?”

  The sultana opened her eyes, stared at the djinn. “Watch your tone around me. The Kalb inquisitors answer to me. You don't want me unleashing them upon you.”

  Mara scoffed, then spat to the side as if showing how much he cared for the thought.

  Silence fell upon them both. An awkward, dangerous one. Shoki coughed, confused as to why the djinn had asked him to sit in with them. Neither could he protect the sultana if some armed bandit was to find them right now, nor could he shield the magus from her wrath that was growing by the second.

  The answer came to him in a flash, chilling his veins. Despite his garb, Mara could never pass for a normal human being. Not even being a magus excused his lack of familiarly with the customs everyone else seemed to know instinctively.

  Shoki was the one prop that made him appear normal by mere association.

  He considered the idea ruefully, found he didn't really care much, so long as it afforded him an opportunity to remain beside her.

  The sultana and the djinn were still staring at each other. Perhaps he could do something to ease the tension. He cleared his throat. “Ehem... might be better to resume the... erm... training tomorrow morning?”

  “As if it’s going to help,” said the djinn, rolling his eyes. Shoki winced.

  “Strangely, I find myself in agreement with you, magus,” replied the sultana, standing up. “What can be done now, need not wait until the morning. Get up so we may continue.”

  “Continue?” asked Mara, his voice disbelieving, mocking.

  “Do not dither.”

  The djinn stared at her, then shrugged. “Very well, girl.”

  “Sultana. You will call me by my title.”

  The djinn stood too and placed his hands on his hips, a contemptuous smile spreading on his large, thick lips. “Calling the rock a flower doesn't change its attributes.”

  “It does when forced under the pickaxe of a sculptor.”

  Mara roared with laughter. “If nothing else, they still teach you Istani sharp wits at the Shahi Qilla. Not everything has changed, perhaps.” He turned his hand toward Shoki. “Too bad, some of that leaks into the guards posted there as well.”

  Shoki glared at the magus, a faint anger rising in his chest. He’d kept to his promise, keeping the djinn’s true identity hidden, his actions against the Kalb inquisitor unreported. “C-careful magus, a man in a glass house should never hurl stones.”

  Mara cackled. “Are you challenging a magus?” The eyes grew hard. “Challenging me?”

  Nuraya raised a hand and the djinn fell silent. She took a step toward him, a bead of sweat running down her long neck, slithering down the peshwaz underneath the vest. “Watch your tongue, magus. He’s suffered enough.” Shoki gasped and she turned her head. “Mona and Rurik told me what happened to your family. Rest assured, I am going to exact vengeance on your behalf too.”

  Shook cleared his throat. “That’s... erm...”

  “No need to thank me,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “A good ruler looks after the concerns of her citizenry.”

  “I...” Shoki stammered, his eyes falling to his clenched fists. Her words had rekindled the fire that had fallen cold in his own heart for revenge. He’d confront all those who’d entered his house and defiled it, and then he’d see those sons of whores writhe in pain, beg for mercy that would never arrive.

  A sponge could absorb a lot of water, grow heavy with it, take on many of its characteristics, but it never retained it for long.

  The anger dissipated, leaving him a trembling, desiccated mess.

  Nuraya strode toward him. His heart racing, he struggled up. She stopped a mere step away from him, close enough for him to smell her scent. Not the smell of one who might have bathed in flower extracts every day. A young warrior in her natural state. An irresistible one with eyes the color of lava.

  Some animal instinct stirred in his chest, making him forget his place. Dumbly, he stared at the lock of dark hair falling over her eyes, watched the perfect, long neck, the soft flesh of her shoulders half-tucked away by the long hair.

  He blinked, looked up. Her fiery eyes were hard, an eyebrow arched. Shoki braced himself, resigned to whatever was coming his way. A man without a fight cared for nothing. And... if his end was to be visited by a woman this pretty, perhaps that wouldn't be a terrible thing after all.

  The end didn’t come. Nuraya glared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. She wasn’t one to mince her words, something he had seen already. Perhaps, it was pity that stayed her?

  “Shoki...” she said, her voice low.

  Shoki took a foolish, inadvisable step forward. Close enough to see his reflection in her large, bright eyes. His fingers twitched, itching to place themselves over her flawless skin, to pull the world’s most beautiful girl in a tight embrace, to place his lips over hers.

  A shadow crossed Nuraya’s eyes. Shoki blinked, feeling the moment grow heavy with each passing second, become that bit more impossible to turn away from easily.

  “Are you going to learn or not, girl?” came Mara's annoyed voice and the moment shattered.

  Shoki yelped. Nuraya turned around without a word, marched toward the magus. “Take me through your instruction once more.”

  Swallowing, Shoki took a step back. What in gods’ guts was he thinking of doing? If there was one thing he could always count on, it was his ability to make himself insignificant enough to not draw unnecessary attention. And what he
was doing was anything but!

  More laughs drifted up. Closer this time, the words clearer too.

  “—Firumin and Kark are being emptied—” said a gruff voice.

  “—open doors for the Reratish then with Orsa out of the picture—”

  “—Kark is too small though—”

  “Again!” snapped Nuraya and Shoki snapped his head back around.

  “Oh, very well,” replied Mara, sounding increasingly exasperated. “Close your eyes, then reach out for the world around you.”

  The sultana sat down on the ground cross-legged, then placed her upturned palms over the knees. She drew in a long breath, her chest expanding in a dangerously pleasing fashion, then closed her eyes. Shoki tried moving his eyes away, fearing what she would think if she were to open her eyes and see him gaping like an idiot.

  Mara turned his dark eyes to him. Again, Shoki wondered if a magus could read the hearts of men? What if he knew all going through his mind this very moment? Feeling himself blush, Shoki turned his head. Another worrying thought took its place. If the Sultana did end up learning magic, what would she do to him if she caught even a glimpse of all the lascivious thoughts occupying his mind?

  Men are carnivorous by nature. No amount of culture can make them eat grass. Another of Salar Ihagra’s sayings, its meaning becoming clearer now. Shoki’s mind drifted, a pleasant tingling spreading through his lower extremity as he imagined being alone with the sultana, his hands—

  He squirmed, crossed his legs, pinched his sides, then forced himself to regard the lengthening shadows of the trees.

  Not long before the sun would set.

  He turned his head toward the tents. The scouts would be on their way back now. Hopefully, their news would confirm no one was following them, that they were safe to continue east at full speed, toward Algaria.

  “I can’t feel anything,” came Nuraya’s voice.

  Shoki turned back to the sultana, his eyes settling on her bosom.

  I feel.

  “Keep trying,” muttered the magus. “Or shut up and walk away!”

  The sultana’s eyes moved under the lids, a tremble creeping into her fingers. Clenching her jaw, she exhaled, her nostrils flaring. Shoki swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew nothing about magic of course, but if it was something one could learn, surely there would be none stronger, more obstinate than this woman who had set her mind to be the leader of the great Istani Sultanate.

  Not someone like Shoki who couldn't even control the wayward thoughts in his own mind.

  “Where else would I…” muttered the djinn, shaking his head at the sultana, rest of his words too low for Shoki to hear.

  “I feel nothing!” said Nuraya.

  “Let yourself go!” said the magus, his droning voice low, almost whisper-like now. “Forget all that binds you to this world. You are neither the sultana nor the princess. Not a girl sitting in the middle of a forest. A mere nothing. A nobody. Must be a difficult thing for you to imagine, I guess,” the magus smirked, “but discard all such thoughts. Once you’ve got that, become everything. The girl. These foolish men beside you who confuse themselves for hardened warriors. Branches of the trees stretching over the forest floor. The wind rustling between tree trunks. Your brothers. Everything!”

  The sultana chewed her lower lip, giving her head a slight shake. An unexpected pang of sympathy rose in Shoki’s heart. How in gods’ guts was anyone meant to follow instructions as confusing as these? Be nothing... yet be everything?

  “I. Cannot. Feel. Anything,” said the sultana, her eyes still closed, the words hard, brittle.

  “You’re not trying hard then.”

  “By the Unseen God!” she cried out, drawing a surprised gasp from Shoki.

  “Seek out the one thing amongst the nothingness of everything around you. That is your source.” The magus shook his head, his voice dropping to a mutter. “Not that you have anything like that.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Are you concentrating hard enough?”

  Grunting, the sultana snapped opened her eyes, fixed the magus with a scowl. “Magus, we shall continue tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to see if Jinan has finally returned.”

  Shoki made a face at the mention of the mercenary salar. The blasted man had conveniently caught up with them yesterday, made a great show of having missed the battle, then promised to accompany the scouts.

  Mara cackled, made a shooing motion. “Go, girl. Do something else you’re equally terrible at.”

  Sultana Nuraya rose from the ground in one smooth, graceful motion. “Magus, branches that stretch out longer than they need to get pruned.”

  “Oh, so you’re a gardener as well now?”

  The sultana’s body shook, her face growing dark with rage. “This is—”

  “Erm... Prin—Sultana,” cut in Shoki, stepping between the two, “resting for a night sounds like a wonderful idea. A fresh start tomorrow, Rabb willing, will help a g-great deal!”

  Nuraya shot him a quick look, then turned back to Mara. “By virtue of inheriting the Peacock Throne, I am Keeper of the Divide, a duty ordained by Rabb himself to keep your kind locked away from the public. A sacred duty, no matter what Maharis tells me. Mara, if you cannot gift me these powers, be wary of what follows for yourself and your kind.”

  The magus shrugged. “Looking at your progress, we’d better start making our plans.”

  “The wind obeys me,” she said simply, waving a hand around her. “Many times, when I’ve been angry, I’ve felt it cry out to me, seeking my embrace.”

  The djinn grew quiet, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. “Ah.”

  “So, you see, I do have the capacity to wield magic.” Her voice dropped. “No matter how long it takes, I am going to become a magus. One more powerful than you. More powerful than even that infamous Afrasiab! And once I do, my enemies are going to quiver in front of me.”

  That said, the new sultana whirled around on her feet and stomped toward the tents.

  “Interesting,” muttered the djinn, settling back on the stump, his features withdrawn.

  Shoki cleared his throat, questions bubbling in his mind. There was something odd in the djinn’s manner. He looked… thoughtful. That was what was wrong with him.

  The sound of clapping hooves came from the west. Shoki’s heart leapt to his throat. He reached for his sword, then cursed himself for having forgotten to buckle it on after he’d come back from relieving himself in the forest.

  Shouts rose. A second later, delightful whoops came from Sultana’s Hands. Shoki sneered as the riders finally came into view. Leading a group of two dozen horsemen, Jinan Hoshbar grinned at the faces turned his way. Sitting easily in the saddle, his horse lathered, and the end of his green turban trailing behind him, he looked the very picture of a warrior prince that would’ve found its place in any Algarian palace. He rode into the clearing, not deigning to cast a glance toward Shoki.

  “The east answers your summons,” said Jinan, his voice ringing. “Two thousand horsemen have joined me. Five thousand more are riding hard this very moment, eager to serve under your banner.”

  “You did well,” replied the sultana beaming at the smug salar.

  He said something, the words too low for Shoki to hear. Nuraya laughed. Shoki turned away, disgusted by the sight.

  As Shoki started to stomp away, someone broke out into a song. Some haunting, foreboding tune Shoki hadn't heard before. Before long, more of the Sultana’s Hands joined in, their off-key voices rising, joining each other’s in unison.

  Shoki stared at them all. Men joined together by the promise of a common future. Men who had something to look forward to. Men with a purpose.

  Men unlike him.

  Why was he here? What was he doing lapping at his wounds after all that had transpired?

  How was it possible that despite a world in chaos, a three-way succession war in the making, enemies of the Istani Sultanate amassing at the bo
rders, he continued to drift aimlessly?

  Chapter 20

  Nuraya

  Her sword held out perfectly straight, Nuraya lunged to the right. Before her foot had made landfall, she was already twisting, dancing around to face the other way.

  Thrust.

  Jab.

  Thrust.

  Twigs snapped behind her. She whirled about, the sword aimed at the precise angle her Kur’shi teachers had shown her. Again, she lurched forward, attacking when the imaginary enemy would have expected caution.

  Reratish and Zakhanan forces were gathering at the borders, their armed parties apparently already making forays into the sultanate. She had no way of knowing if that was true or not, but her scouts kept bringing the same reports. Far too many to be mere rumors.

  While all that was happening, here she was, hiding from her own uncle.

  A crow cawed overhead. Nuraya dropped to a crouch, ignoring the sweat that poured freely down her forehead. Had she ever sweat this much at training? She forced a grin, then feinting a move to the right, jabbed to the left, then leaped up in the air and brought the sword down in a long sweeping arc.

  Her body was growing tired, her movements slowing down. The sun had been directly overhead when she’d started. Her shadow was now almost double her height. Nuraya didn’t complain though. A sultana never complained, nor did she let changes in the world control what she needed to do.

  The sultana.

  Her hand shook, the enormity of her claim too much to bear even for her, even after all these days. Shaking her head, she let out a cry, thrust forward again.

  Abba, what would you have done in my place?

  The late sultan didn't reply. His answers and opinions would never be heard again.

  Restlessness grew within her. She had tried being patient, letting the world do its thing so long as it didn't impact her. And how had that turned out? They had all ended up deceiving her. First, Ahasan. Then, the grand vizier through his silence upon her brother kidnapping the queen.