Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

Darkness fell upon him a second time.

  Chapter 24

  Nuraya

  All day they had ridden hard, swift as the wind blowing down rolling mountains. Fifteen thousand riders, their hooves thundering on the road leading to Buzdar, a cloud of dust stretching back miles and miles.

  Two more mercenary salars had joined up at midday, pledging their numbers to her cause. Hardly the kind of men she would have wanted before this journey started, but the only ones she could attract at the moment.

  Nuraya didn't care. Her only concern was to get to Buzdar as soon as possible, secure her tail and flanks before concentrating on what lay ahead.

  A leader who didn’t plan defense deserved no offensive advantage. One more thing she remembered Abba mentioning once. Or was it one of her Kur’shi tutors? She shook her head. All that mattered was avenging her honor and forcing the Ameer of Nikhtun to bend the knee to her. He’d either commit his forces to her or failing that, never rise again.

  Then, she’d turn eastward to Algaria.

  Mona rode beside her. A friend who she hardly recognized anymore. A while ago, the two had been inseparable. Two souls, one body. Always together as if a master tailor had stitched them together. She was still there physically, riding beside her, sharing her tent every night, yet increasingly she had grown into a stranger.

  “Mona?” she called out.

  “Yes, my sultana?” Mona replied.

  Nuraya hesitated for a second, then shook her head. “You and Jinan… Is there something I need to be aware of?”

  Her friend’s cheeks reddened. She too, hesitated before replying. “Nothing really… my sultana!”

  Mona was lying. Nuraya opened her mouth to remind Mona of the furtive glances the two kept sharing, but then clamped it shut. Whatever went on in Mona’s life was her business. So long as it didn't influence the loyalty of her salar, she couldn't care less.

  It hurt seeing the distance that had crept between the two though. But it was one more thing she couldn't change at present. Besides, had Mona turned tables and asked why her thoughts kept drifting to the city guard from Algaria, would she have shared them openly?

  Her mind had sat idle too long. That was what explained this strange preoccupation with Shoki, and the accompanying regrets at sending him away.

  Nothing more.

  Gritting her teeth, Nuraya set her eyes to the west where the sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon. Another day was almost at an end. Her destination, the city of Buzdar lay a mere two days’ ride away. Mona shouted something at one of Jinan’s men riding to her right. The mercenary bellowed with laughter. Nuraya shook her head.

  Her mind brought up more troubling thoughts. Had she changed as well and not just those around her? Would the Nuraya who had only ever seen life within the confines of the Shahi Qilla ever issue the proclamation freeing the magi?

  Why had she done that? Should she have thought through the ramifications of that decision a bit more? A slight tremor crept into her fingers at the memory of Maharis’s face beaming when she’d uttered the words.

  What did others make of that proclamation? She’d done what no other sultan had ever done before. If no one complained to her face, did they do that behind her?

  Jinan rode up beside her. He had risen in life through knowing her. A mercenary salar destined to an ordinary life of a petty crook in peacetime, one cursed by the Creator to seek war constantly and the riches it promised, now her newly minted siphsalar, her right-hand man, her shadow.

  Funny how little she trusted her shadow though.

  She exhaled, licking her lip. Did Abba ever face this problem, this inability to trust his courtiers?

  Her body ached, her thighs chafed, her tummy growled, her callused hands, grimy face, and greasy hair all calling out for attention. She ignored it all, always looking ahead at the destination that lay just beyond, her focus on the long path once she’d dealt with Buzdar.

  A horse neighed as a large mercenary galloped toward her. She narrowed her eyes recognizing Vishan under the helm, his bulbous nose jutting out like an arrow from a bow.

  “My sultana, may I have a word?” he shouted as he drew closer, his voice rising over the cacophony of hooves and men hollering.

  She nodded, slowing down.

  “My scouts just came in,” he said, huffing slightly. “They report a number of northern forts either lying empty or poorly defended. We still have an opportunity to turn north, use them as staging ground for counter assaults.”

  She scoffed just as Jinan cackled.

  “You've gone mad, mushy in the brain, old man,” shouted Jinan. “Why freeze our balls off in the north when the west is ours for the taking? Besides, who in the seven hells asked you to send your scout northward anyway?”

  “Why did you send your men away?” asked Nuraya, doubt taking root in her heart.

  Vishan ignored Jinan, his eyes watching her face as their horses continued to gallop west. “I offer my counsel. If it’s not needed,” he shrugged and spat to the side, “then so be it.” Nuraya bristled, opened her jaw. Vishan bolted his head up. “Our scouts have also captured an imperial messenger, still wearing the sigil of his office.”

  Nuraya scowled. “Why should I care?”

  “An interrogation would be useful to see what he knows,” said Vishan. “An army that doesn't know what lays ahead, or behind it, marches blind.”

  “Not so long as they’ve got me!” said Jinan. “I’ve got my scouts reporting clear roads a whole day ahead of us.”

  Nuraya exhaled. Her fingers were numb from the constant pace, her backside sore. She probably reeked just as bad as the men around her. She turned her chin up. The sun had dipped almost entirely now behind the horizon.

  No matter how much she wanted to rush through, risking their horses in failing light would only help her foes. Nodding, she pointed at Jinan. “Prepare the men to camp.” Then she turned to Vishan. “Bring the messenger to me.”

  Vishan and Jinan peeled away. Shouts rang out as their lieutenants barked commands. Spying a hill up ahead, Nuraya motioned to Mona, and turned her horse toward it.

  As they rode up the winding path, her eyes fell upon Maharis, sitting miserably once more on horseback, one hand holding onto the saddle for dear life. Regret washed over her. Had she made the wrong decision? The nagging voice reared its head again, shouting that Abba would never have done that, a voice she was increasingly failing at keeping quiet.

  Conflict raged within her chest, dredging up more things she shouldn't have done. Trying to learn magic, for one. What past Sultan of Istan had ever sought to become the very abomination he was tasked to keep at bay? Sure, magi had long been topics of morbid fascination, but one didn't go mad even if they held sympathy for the crazy.

  Small blessing then, a sign of favor from divine Rabb perhaps, that nothing had come of the exercise.

  Nuraya slowed Vengeance and waited until Maharis had caught up. What was done was done and she had to make do with the options she did have. “Where are all these magi you promised me, Maharis?”

  The magus sat up on the saddle, offered a short bow. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, barely audible over the shouting men. “They make their way toward you, my sultana. Their cause is now yours, and yours is ours.”

  “I...” Nuraya trailed away, the misgivings taking hold of her once more.

  What’s done is done!

  She nodded, motioned to Mona, and peeled away from the magus. She was tired, her bones aching all over, but she forced her features to remain serene. She would let these men see her as the fount of strength and dignity she was meant to be. They were Sultana’s Hands, no longer a mere mercenary force, something larger, greater than the sum of their parts, and they deserved an equally grand leader.

  Jinan and Vishan remained at the base of the hill, barking more orders at the men. Fat Rurik rode up to Jinan, the horse panting under his considerable bulk. The two men engaged in a loud, angry conversation before Rurik rode off. S
he caught sight of Vishan turning toward Jinan, and the younger man turning his back to him.

  Ignoring the mayhem and the pangs in her body, Nuraya turned to Mona. “Ever imagine it’d come to all this?”

  Mona hesitated. “No. Did you?”

  Nuraya forced a chuckle. “Did I imagine that one day I’d be storming down the highway, leading a force of mercenaries against my own uncle, then turning around to face my brother?” She shook her head. “Rabb has his own ways, but I’d never imagined kismet held this for me.”

  Mona smiled, then looked away. Silent, the two of them watched the formless mass of men begin taking shape. Nuraya waited if Mona would share what she was thinking, but she said nothing.

  Nuraya turned back to the mercenaries and caught side of the two men who had been chasing Shoki not too many nights ago. Another pang rose in her heart. Shoki was like her in many regards. A stranger far from home. One who’d lost his parents. A streak of stubbornness and recklessness that had taken her by surprise.

  Shaking her head, she swept her gaze toward the base of the hill and saw a man in tattered robes being shoved forward by her soldiers. Even through the tatters, she could see the sickle on his shoulder. One of her men jeered, the others joining in the laughter that ensued as they pushed him up the hill.

  Taking note of the shambling men, Vishan dismounted, began walking beside the captured messenger. She saw Jinan shout at Vishan, noticed how the Salar ignored the younger man.

  Nuraya waited, her heart thudding in her chest.

  Then, exhaling, she whipped her horse around to face the men. A premonition of something terrible heading her way set the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

  Rurik shoved the imperial messenger and he stumbled forward, catching his balance at the last instant. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jinan run up the hill to join them. She fixed her eyes on the messenger. A tall, middle-aged man, a distinguished gray beard framing his dark face. His sharp eyes traveled up to her, stayed there.

  “Bow to the sultana!” growled Jinan huffing.

  The man nodded, then bowed his head. Nuraya sucked her teeth as Jinan hissed. Ignorant of the Istani court’s customs as Jinan might be, even he knew one prostrated to the Istani monarch instead of resorting to a mere bow.

  “You do not acknowledge my claim, Messenger,” she said, taking care to project her voice.

  “You are... wise,” he said, his cultured, refined Algaria accent standing out like a pot of gold in the middle of the latrine pit. “Just as your uncle claimed.”

  Nuraya bit her lower lip. The man was foolish, and yet brave. She could try forcing the man to bow, but as Abba had showed her, a real leader didn’t rule through fear, but by earning respect. “When did you hear from him?”

  “In the missive he sent to Algaria, promising his army to defend the capital.”

  “What news do you carry?” she asked.

  The imperial messenger shuffled his weight, his eyes downcast. “A... message from the crown prince for the Ameer of Nikhtun.”

  “Which is?”

  Again, the man fidgeted. Then the hard eyes rose, didn’t flinch away. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

  She nodded.

  The imperial messenger took a step forward, then reaching into his tattered robes and extracted a scroll. Jinan and Rurik exchanged a glance. She raised a hand to stop them from restraining the messenger.

  “His august majesty, Ahasan, heir to the Peacock Throne and the glorious Istani Sultanate wishes to announce a conclusion to the investigations carried out after the death of his beloved father, Sultan Anahan, first of his name.” Nuraya blinked, taken aback. The messenger continued, his loud voice carrying over the sudden silence that had fallen upon them all.

  “Queen Aleena, second wife of the great sultan has been found guilty of poisoning her husband.” Mona gasped. The world swayed under Nuraya’s feet. “The noble council of royal physicians headed by the venerable grand vizier himself have come to this conclusion free of any outside influence. Until further notice, the queen shall be imprisoned at the goal at Kark, from whence she shall be summoned to face justice after my coronation. May Rabb curse her, her memory, and her progeny for seven generations.”

  Laying the parchment down, the imperial messenger looked up defiantly. Nuraya stared right back. Her ears were ringing, the breath constricting in her chest. Mother... found guilty... of poisoning Abba?

  Jinan marched forward. “Lies. Fabrications. Your brother has resorted to dirty tricks.”

  She blinked, for once at a loss for words. What was one supposed to say upon hearing something like this about their parents?

  “We’re going to show ‘em,” he said, smashing a gauntleted fist against his other palm. “The truth cannot be hidden for long. Your brother and his evil schemes are going to be exposed.”

  “Kark,” said Vishan. “Isn't that just up north from where we are currently?”

  “Aye,” said Jinan with some irritation. “A day’s hard ride.”

  Nuraya was having trouble breathing. The mercenaries were muttering to each other, a buzz of voice she found taxing. She shook her head, the imperial messenger’s words ringing in her ears. Mona made soft cooing noises, then reached for her hand and give it a squeeze. The brave facade was gone, tears flowing freely down her pretty face, though whether it was out of fear for herself or concern for her friend, Nuraya couldn't tell.

  There would be no hiding this news. Sooner or later, it would spread like wildfire through her men, throughout the sultanate. Whether true or not, once her mother was tainted, her own claim would be weakened as well.

  “Hold on...” said Vishan. “Did you say Buzdar remains unguarded?”

  The imperial messenger shook his head. A sudden, impulsive moment of a man who wanted to obfuscate. “They still have men guarding the walls.”

  “How many?” demanded Jinan, now sensing the opportunity Vishan had picked up on. “Gods curse you, tell me how many!”

  The imperial messenger’s eyes traveled up to her. She nodded, a sultana acquiescing for him to betray what he knew. He exhaled, his shoulders drooping. “A thousand or so, if the ameer told the truth about dispatching most of his strength east.”

  “A thousand!” cried Jinan, a grin spreading on his face. “That’s good. Very good!”

  Nuraya blinked, surprised to find herself still standing despite the earth-shattering news the messenger had shared.

  “Did you hear that, my sultana?” asked Jinan, still grinning. “The city is wide open.”

  “Kark...” she croaked, raising a finger at the imperial messenger. “Is that where they took Mother to?”

  The imperial messenger didn't respond.

  “My sultana—” began Vishan, but she waved him off.

  “Did your men go past Kark as well?”

  “Aye.”

  “How many men guard it?” she asked.

  “No more than five hundred,” said Vishan after a pause.

  She exhaled. Men and women made plans, and Rabb disposed them at will. That was what was happening here too.

  Something nagged at her.

  She froze, finally realizing the one emotion she had not yet felt through the array of others that had gripped her heart upon hearing the accusations. True, there was rage, anger, sadness, regret.

  But where was the doubt?

  She tried again, failed to locate it in the simmering mess rioting in her chest.

  Why was that?

  She swallowed, then pointed west. “Jinan, take thirteen thousand of my men tomorrow and ride hard for Buzdar. Take the city in my name.” She turned the finger north. “Vishan, we ride north to my mother.”

  Chapter 25

  Shoki

  Agony. The world bursting with pain and hurt and torment.

  A whimper escaped Shoki’s lips. Something he increasingly had no control over.

  Darkness. A little sliver of light through the slit of his right eye. The eye that
had escaped the inquisitor’s punishment.

  Another scream bubbled up from his throat, came as a strangled groan. Who was he? Why was he there? Whose was this intolerable existence he was living through?

  Shoki. Was that his name?

  Not that it mattered.

  Dampness in the right eye. He blinked, cried out as the ruin in his left eye socket burst in agony once more.

  He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. He recalled seeing faces. Heard them talk. Remembered screaming when someone had come to apply bandages over the wreck of his eye. Heard the clatter of metal instruments and a sword. The inquisitor had been back as well—wondering when Shoki might be able to be interrogated once more, telling someone to clean the dried blood off his eye.

  Shoki didn’t care for any of that.

  His eye was gone.

  Even if he somehow escaped this hell, half the light in his life was gone forever.

  Again, shards of pain radiated behind his eyeballs, spread in a painful arc through to the back of his skull, set his entire body thrumming in agony.

  Why me?

  Darkness threatened to fall over him once more. He didn't fight it, instead choosing to welcome it. The darkness never came, deserting him just like he had been about to give up the sultana a mere instant before the iron bar punctured his eyeball.

  The memory of his defiance crumbling might have succeeded in shaming him once. He felt none of it. Given the choices, what man would have chosen otherwise?

  Worse was realizing he had been on the verge of selling out his soul and yet had failed to protect himself. Breath caught in his chest. He was still in captivity, still at the mercy of the inquisitor and his minions.

  And he still had many more body parts to keep them busy for a long time.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself up. Hesitantly, he touched his left eye—where it once used to be. His hand felt charred flesh, a pang of pain accompanying the touch, a sickly ooze sticking to his fingers.

  Outside, men moved, talked, laughed. They seemed in no hurry to decamp just yet. Shoki peered out the small opening through the tent flap. Night had fallen. Yet, the world outside was alive, bursting with life.