by Fuad Baloch
“S-she is inside the main quarters, my princess.”
“Sultana!” corrected one of her men.
The soldier bowed even deeper. “My sultana.”
Nuraya marched through the open doors and into the vast courtyard. Nothing as grand as the ones in Algaria, of course. A pale imitation of the palace in Buzdar, but still sizable for a fortress this size.
A clutch of women ran from her sight, their eunuchs and maids following in their wake.
Nuraya stormed forward, her eyes searching, scanning, her anger rising each second.
“Mother!” she bellowed, turning around once she stood in the center. “Where are you?”
A plump maid rushed forward, her eyes downcast, her veil slipping off her head when she finally came to a stop. “The queen is inside her chambers.”
“Take me there,” Nuraya growled, forcing herself to keep her voice low.
Nodding, the maid bowed, then began shuffling to her right. Nuraya followed. One of Vishan’s men walked over to her.
“My sultana, we should be careful,” he said in his gruff voice.
She scoffed. “Too late for that.”
“Let me go first. I’ll make sure it’s not a trap.”
“If it is one,” Nuraya declared, casting a baleful glance at the maid, “then it would be the last trap they ever get to set.”
The maid opened the ostentatious doors, then stepped aside.
Nuraya burst through.
The room was dark, the windows shut, a lone lamp burning weakly in the distance.
“Mother!”
A voice came from the distant corner. Almost too faint to hear had she not been straining to hear it. Nuraya ran over.
Beside the flickering light of the lamp, Queen Aleena, widow of the great Sultan Anahan sat hunched in the corner. She raised her chin, offered a weak smile. “Daughter, you’re late.”
Chapter 27
Shoki
Shaking like a leaf, Shoki forced his fingers around the sword’s hilt once more. It slipped, fell away. With a cry, he caught the hilt inches from his feet. The blade might be dull, but the weight alone could have crushed his toes.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he blinked. Two nights had passed since he woke up and yet his mind continued to expect to see from both eyes.
To the right, the lone oil lamp cast a flickering light on the tent walls. Beside it lay the food tray upon which the inquisitor’s men had brought him stale bread and soup. Standing on tiptoes, ignoring the burning in his ruined socket, Shoki stepped forward.
The guard stationed outside was quiet. Another few hours before he’d come in to retrieve the tray and the refuse bucket. Was he asleep? Shoki waited a long breath. The night was quiet save for nocturnal sounds.
Good.
Crouching, Shoki tiptoed to the opposing wall. He extended his hand, placing it gently on one of the wooden posts holding his tent aloft. It creaked. As if scalded, he jerked his fingers back, then waited with bated breath to see if anyone had heard.
Nothing.
His heart thudding, Shoki touched the post again, gave it the slightest of pushes. It caved, crumbling as if made of cotton instead of wood. Shoki shook his head in amazement. Then again, this wasn't the time for pondering mysteries. Tightening his grip over the largely useless sword, the blade and the point both blunted, he pushed with it until the post broke with a slight groan.
Again, he paused, waited to see if anyone had heard it.
A loud ripping sound came from the tent fabric. With a startled yelp, Shoki stumbled back. His foot caught onto something and he fell back on his bottom. When he came to, he cursed himself, then forced himself back up.
The tear in the fabric was large enough to see the row of dimly illuminated tents just beyond. Some ten strides from his tent, three men lay on the ground, their chests rising and falling gently.
Shoki shuddered, his one good eye transfixed by the sleeping men. Would this be the time the inquisitor finally walked in to continue where he had left off last time?
No one barged in the tent. The alley outside the rip remained silent.
Plucking his courage, Shoki rose unsteadily, then before fear of what he might encounter outside could stop him, he squeezed out of the rent.
Chill night air greeted him, typical of the cooler northern climate. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms rose in response. Standing still, mere feet away from the snoring men, Shoki waited to see if anyone had seen him emerge.
A horse snorted in the distance and he half jumped out of his skin.
Keep moving. Do not stop.
Clutching his thin robes with one hand, the useless sword dangling in the other, Shoki forced his left foot forward, then his right. Each step was labored, terrifying. His heart leapt at every little sound. He may not have been accosted yet, but surely it would only be a matter of time considering it looked like they had pitched his tent right in the middle of their camp.
Shoki came to a stop at the next intersection of tents. Could he dare continue heading straight, aiming for the main road he’d spied when they’d brought him here, or turn away and go through the forest instead?
For long, painful moments, he remained where he was, unable to make up his mind, the steel bangle brushing against his skin. One way lay the risk of apprehension, of walking into the very men he intended to give the slip, of bumping into the inquisitor himself. But then, the idea of trekking alone in the forest hardly sounded any more appealing.
His eye fell on the flickering torch ahead. He froze, then blinked. Instead of the usual riot of orange and yellow, the flame was gray. He shook his head, looked around.
Something else was wrong too. Something about the way—
A rasping cough came from the tent beside him and he jumped. Feeling his hands growing moist with sweat despite the chill air, he waited to see if he had been discovered.
Then, Shoki realized what had been prickling all this while.
He was scared, something that had never changed. But in this moment, he should have been terrified, unable to move, to even think straight. Instead, here he was, a sword in his hand, a heart that was afraid but also determined.
Exhaling, he banished all thoughts from his mind and took an indecisive step forward, hoping to force his gut to make a decision for him.
Some night animal growled in the forest, a low, rumbling noise that set his teeth chattering. He shook his head, thankful to the beast, then began moving slowly through the camp toward the road. A bestial snort floated up from that direction. Hope soared in his chest. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be able to commandeer a horse, be off before anyone would know.
“Halt!” came a voice from his right.
Shoki jumped, turned, and found himself staring at a plump man dressed in a tattered shirt, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
“Who in the gods’ glory holes are you?” he asked.
Shoki blinked, forcing his mind to think up a suitable excuse. The man’s eyes fell on Shoki’s. Curse you, Shoki! If there was ever a chance of passing himself as one of these men, brandishing a naked sword gave that away.
“I... erm...”
“You’re...” said the man, taking a step forward, his eyes growing wide, “the boy we caught, aren’t you?”
Shoki began to shake his head, the hands trembling. “N-not r-really... I’m... just...”
“The fuck you are!”
“Gods’ guts,” muttered Shoki, the sword shaking in his grip.
“Drop it and raise your hands,” said the man, taking another step forward.
“N-no!” said Shoki, swinging the sword as if to punctuate his point. “Y-you stay away from me.”
The stout soldier advanced, his arms extending to either side. “Be a good lad. You don’t want to cut yourself, now do you, boy?”
Something about the manner in which the soldier addressed him rubbed Shoki the wrong way. He bristled with anger, then felt it drain the next instant realizing the so
ldier was mere paces away now, close enough for the nearby torchlight to illuminate his pock-marked face. The thick lips curled back as the ugly soldier grinned.
“S-step away!” warned Shoki, giving the useless sword one more useless wave.
“Or what?” the soldier mocked, raising his right arm. Something metallic glinted. Shoki’s felt his heart sink. Of course, not everyone was as stupid as him to approach a foe without a suitable plan or weapon.
In any other circumstance, Shoki ought to have had the advantage. Not only did he have superior reach with the sword, but he’d also had the advantage of surprise. He’d squandered the second, and the first wasn’t really applicable considering the sword was so dull it couldn't even cut through parchment.
As if able to read the thoughts racing through his mind, the soldier stepped forward again, dropping to a warrior’s stance, the hand gripping the dagger coming out in front. “Careful, boy. Just drop the sword and raise your hand.”
Time stilled. Shoki’s hands shook, the sword rattling, the sound of his beating heart louder than anything around him. The man was still grinning as he continued to inch forward.
How many men had this soldier killed? Had he been in Algaria as well, one of the pillagers who’d attacked his neighbors and friends?
Shoki was cornered, out of options. He should never have been here in the first place. A man ought not punch above his weight, another of Salar Ihagra’s plentiful lessons. His fate was to apprentice beside his father, be a pillar of support to him and his mother as they aged. Instead, he’d joined the city guards, let the currents of the world thrash him around this way and that until he’d lost all sense and form.
There was no one to blame for his mess except for him.
And no one to help out except for himself as well.
Shoki exhaled, surprised the soldier still hadn't pierced his torso.
Something still felt off, wrong somehow. Shoki cocked his head to the side, his chest tightening. Why wasn't he running away? Why did he remain standing, waiting for the enemy to make the killing blow?
Panic coursed through his body, breaking the spell. With a yelp, Shoki stepped back, the world rushing back in a deluge. The soldier grunted, then lunged at him, found empty space as Shoki dodged the jab.
“Oh, you little cocksucker,” the soldier growled, shifting the dagger to his other hand. “You just asked for a painful death.”
“Let me go,” Shoki heard himself say, shocked by how steady it sounded.
“Like hell!” The soldier feinted to the right, then moved his arm in a wide arc aiming to slice Shoki’s belly. At the last second, Shoki pulled the sword down, the blade catching onto the dagger, sending a painful jolt up his arm. The sword fell from his hand, dropped harmlessly to the ground.
“Argh!” shouted the man, cradling his arm. “You’re really gonna get it now!”
Shoki blinked, tears brimming his eyes again. He was cornered, at the end of his tether. No one decision had brought him here. A series of little steps, each leading him further from the straight and narrow he should have been on.
Why was his mind dwelling on these pointless thoughts at this moment anyway?
The man lunged.
Shoki stepped to the side. An almost involuntary movement, his feet moving as if they had a mind of their own.
The soldier grunted. Someone coughed to the right. Spying the dagger thrusting toward him, Shoki dodged it effortlessly.
His foe was screaming now, frothing at the mouth, all semblance of composure gone. Shoki licked his lip, just as bewildered. Another low rumble rose from the forest.
As the soldier rounded, a wave of lethargy washed over Shoki. It took all his strength just to remain standing.
The soldier attacked once again. This time, Shoki didn’t duck, didn’t flee. Instead, he sidestepped the man, then kicked him in the ribs. Not a strong kick as kicks went, but the momentum of the man alongside Shoki’s timing set him flying.
He landed with a thud, the dagger skittering away from his grip.
His heart thudding, Shoki bounded for the fallen dagger. The grip was sweaty. He picked it up, held it out like a sword, then realized how foolish he must look.
The soldier rose slowly, his eyes dark, murderous.
“Just let me go,” said Shoki.
“Like hell!” The soldier leapt forward, his arms spread apart as if to pull him into a bear hug. Breath catching, Shoki stumbled back, inches from the man’s reach.
The soldier didn't let up, throwing himself at him over and over again. Once more, the wave of dizziness rose and almost took Shoki with it, making it difficult to dodge the soldier.
Knowing he couldn’t keep doing it, Shoki inched back.
Not fast enough as the soldier’s punch landed firmly in his ribs.
“Ow!” Shoki groaned, the wind escaping his lungs. Somehow, his hand still held onto the dagger though.
Some night beast growled in the distance as with a triumphant cry, and the soldier bounded once more. Shoki closed his eyes, brought his arm forward.
Warm liquid sprayed his face, some of it entering Shoki’s open mouth as the dagger sunk into the soldier’s plump abdomen. Just as Shoki opened his eyes in horror, the soldier screamed, spattering Shoki’s eye and the back of his mouth with gristle and blood.
The soldier slithered to the ground, a hand gripping his sides, blood pooling around him.
Their eyes met
“Y-you...” drawled the dying man.
“I’m... sorry,” said Shoki, halfway between crying and screaming.
Loud voices were coming from all directions now. Someone blew a sharp whistle. Shoki blinked, the bloody dagger still in his hand.
He had killed. Again. This time, all by himself, though.
“What’s going on?” came a shout from the left.
Shoki stepped back, his eyes still drawn to the man he had killed.
Then, without another thought, he broke into a run, heading straight on, toward the horses.
Chapter 28
Nuraya
The highest mountains stand over the deepest valley. In the vast cistern lays the cavernous emptiness.
More lessons from the scriptures and Istani sayings that once had made little sense. Nuraya exhaled, reduced to a husk now that the fervor of battle had leaked out, and forced her fingers to remain still.
“Mother, are you going to talk to me or not?” she asked again, glaring at the queen, her profile lit by the morning sun filtering from the window.
The queen’s face remained passive, her dark eyes staring blankly ahead at an empty spot on the wall.
Nuraya clenched her fists. This wasn't going the way she had anticipated. Outside the shuttered doors, boots scrunched as her men patrolled the corridors. She was here, victorious, her mother beside her. Yet, instead of the euphoria she ought to have felt, why had this empty hollowness taken root in her instead?
Thoughts and worries invaded her mind. She was the Sultana, a leader waging battles in multiple places at the same time, and yet in this instance, sitting beside the woman who had birthed her, she felt reduced to an infant once more.
In her mind, she saw the scout Vishan had sent to Buzdar turn his face toward her. “My s-sultana...” he stammered, a middle-aged mercenary seemingly at a loss of words, “the... battle there is not going well.”
“Are we losing?” she had asked, impatient to get past him and through the doors into her mother’s chambers.
“No,” whispered the scout. “We are winning.”
Her heart thudding against her ribs, she had sent the messenger off with a wave, but the worries hadn’t left her. Vishan had pressed her to interrogate him more. Yet, she had walked away, making up the excuse that she needed to see her mother first, fearing news of Buzdar might take up all her attention.
Just before she had entered the door, she had turned around and pointed her finger at Vishan. “Gather all those who looted the locals.”
Maharis
had stepped forward, his black turban large and clean. “Could I see the queen?”
She had scoffed, then walked in.
A tremor crept into her fingers now. She ignored it. Buzdar would capitulate, that much was certain. And it wasn’t for her to dwell too much on how they won, so long as they secured their backs, obtained a supply line, and could march on to Algaria where the real battle awaited her.
Yet, instead of marching for the capital, here she was, sitting beside her mother who ignored her like one did some annoying maid, not acknowledging the manner in which Nuraya had rescued her.
Nuraya exhaled. Her mother had been through a lot. She needed to recuperate, make sense of the changes in both their fortunes. “Mother, you’re free now. Free!”
Again, silence greeted her.
Rage, sudden and uncontrollable, rose through her, a column of fire threatening to devour her restraint. Nuraya sucked her teeth. Where was all this anger coming from? “Mother... Ahasan and his men cannot touch you anymore. You are safe!”
The smooth face remained emotionless.
Nuraya tapped her knee in frustration, the leather jacket creaking with the effort. The queen’s lashes flickered for just a second before turning to stone.
“Argh!” said Nuraya, leaning against the high-back chair. The windows directly ahead opened up to the courtyard. Calm and quiet now. No sign of the mayhem that had engulfed the small fortress’s inhabitants outside the castle’s fortified walls.
Nuraya realized her nails were digging into her palms and forced them to unclench. There was more that needed her attention. Matters she didn’t have time for, didn’t have the energy for, but still couldn’t ignore.
She hadn’t needed to listen too hard to know what Vishan’s men had been up to outside the castle. Despite her express commands to cease the fighting, to not loot the locals, the men had ignored her, Vishan was unable to rein them in.
What had she expected anyway? Could the hyenas be expected to give up meat if commanded?
Yes, came the answer.
She was the sultana. Once she gave the command, the sun itself had to bend to her will like the neem tree did to winds it could not stand against. Such was the way of things, such was how she was going to maintain it.