by Fuad Baloch
Rurik grinned fiercely. He jutted a thick thumb toward the expansive gates. “There!”
Nuraya squinted, was about to shake her head when she saw the vultures circling overhead. One of them swooped down, the beak jutting out, toward what looked like melons.
Not melons.
Her stomach heaved. They were heads. Severed and set upon spears on the ramparts, underneath which no Red Falcons streamed today.
“Are... they...” Nuraya shook her head. “Whose heads are they?”
“The Ameer of Nikhtun’s and his firstborn son’s,” confirmed Rurik with a smug smile. “The Creator-damned bastards didn't even put up much of a challenge. Having sent the bulk of their armies to Algaria, they could have still barricaded themselves in the Red Fort once the eastern walls were gone. But they—”
“Jinan did that?” she asked, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, her eyes taking in the macabre scene.
“Well... that’s what you wanted. They denied your claim, betrayed you, and have now paid the price.” Rurik leaned in sideway, winked at Vishan. “Now that everyone knows what happens to those who betray you, rest assured, no one is going to stab you in the back.”
The words came from some distance. She saw the ameer as he had been like all those years ago. The kind, jovial man who would pull her into tight embraces whenever she visited him with her mother. She used to race Azrar, his son. Despite the advantage in height and age, she was always faster, quicker.
Both father and son were dead now.
More casualties struck under her name.
Distantly, she wondered how her mother would react once she knew what had happened to her only brother. Would she hold her responsible for killing her family, like Nuraya did her for murdering Abba? Was this kismet’s cruel way of putting mother and daughter on equal footing, making victims and torturers out of them both?
She narrowed her eyes. “Why has Jinan still not reported to me?”
“My sultana,” objected Rurik, his face scrunching up as he looked up, “we’re still preparing the provisions and booty and—”
“One hour,” she said, cutting him off. “With the... threat in the west now contained, we march east. Algaria awaits us.” And much awaited justice for my brother.
“On with it,” growled Vishan.
Rurik muttered under his breath but turned and walked away.
Mona leaned in, her hand reaching for hers. Nuraya shook her head. She was the sultana, the symbol of hope and courage for her people. It wouldn't do for her to appear weak. So long as she remained away from the city itself and didn’t have to look up at the rotting heads, she’d be fine.
Battles have a way of getting out of hand, the grand vizier had once explained to her a long time ago when she’d wondered about the higher than expected number of civilian casualties in some northern campaign.
Another lesson she was beginning to understand only now.
She turned her head once more. The western horizon was darker now, a dark wave coming closer to the city even as a thick cloud of ash hung heavy over the city.
Nuraya exhaled, then sat down on a chair one of the mercenaries had set on the grassy hill. Mona joined a breath later. If one ignored the bloodthirsty men surrounding her, and the sounds of clinking armor as the men trudged around, and the horses, and the burning city, she and Mona could have been on one of their yearly excursions to some hilly town in order to escape the sweltering Algarian summer.
“Vishan,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Bring me Kinas’s messenger.”
As she waited, she noticed Maharis and two men wearing black turbans shuffling toward her, mercenaries giving the three a wide berth. She didn't have time for them at the moment, but she was seated and in no disposition to show weakness.
“My brethren,” hissed Maharis, moving a feeble arm over to the men behind him—the taller one had a beak-like nose, his companion was shorter, dark-skinned, his lips thick like a Kur’shi, “await your commands. Like the ever-darkening sky must give way to light, we shall all carry forth your cause with all our might.”
Nuraya narrowed her eyes. “Judging by how well my armies win my battles, I might have no need for you.”
A shadow crossed over the magus’s face. “Alas, my mind finds it hard to reconcile what the heart ought to believe.”
Nuraya chewed on her lower lip. Maybe she had been too hasty in abrogating the order of Kalb inquisitors.
“The Zyadi magus is still missing,” continued Maharis as the two magi behind him kept silent. “Did you want us to seek him out?”
“Why?” she snapped. “I have no need for him either.”
The magus coughed. Ants crawled under her skin, but Nuraya schooled her face to remain impassive, just like her mother’s. It was increasingly doubtful she needed magi, not yet anyway, and with her decision not to try and learn magic anymore, she couldn't care less for where the Zyadi magus had gone.
If he had gone after Shoki, maybe that was a good thing.
“Let me introduce my brothers,” continued Maharis. He pointed at the taller one first. “Lopas.” Then, he waved toward the shorter one. “Urnal. Both are Jaman magi like me. Both just as committed to your cause as I.”
Jaman. Magi who couldn't teach her anything.
Voices rose behind them. Hearing no response from her, the magi reluctantly stepped aside to make way for two of her mercenaries accompanying a tall man she hadn't seen before. Vishan grunted.
Kinas’s messenger had a thick body that gave the impression of having been carved from an old tree trunk. His skin was pale, so white she could almost see the red blood veins bulging beneath the hard face.
“My princess,” he said, his voice thickly accented with the northern dialect of Nirdu. He bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you in person.”
“The sultana,” hissed Maharis.
The messenger shot the magus a dirty look, his eyes lingering on the black turban. “Rabb protect us from evils of your kind!”
Maharis opened his jaw, but Nuraya quieted him with a wave of her arm. Mona came to stand beside her, her shadow falling over Nuraya’s feet.
“What message do you carry?” asked Nuraya, her heartbeat quickening.
“Your brother, the honorable and distinguished son of the late sultan wishes to acknowledge the ill-begotten acts of Ahasan and promises to both pardon and protect your mother and yourself. And—”
“Pardon me?” hissed Nuraya.
The messenger bowed his head once more, unaffected by the heat that had crept up in her voice. “When he assumes the Peacock Throne, as the rightful heir after the great sultan, he promises to clear your mother’s name, and find you a match of your will.”
Chewing on her lower lip, Nuraya stared at the messenger who met her glare without flinching. The heir. Istani history was full of two or three sultans who rose at the same time during the interregnum, all pressing for their claims, striking alliances when it suited them, and of betraying when the timing was right.
Could she trust Kinas?
What did she really know of him? He had always been standoffish with her back when they had studied under the same Kur’shi teachers. Even as a boy, Kinas had been chafing to escape the comfortable life of the palace. A boy with the bloodlust of a man who had little patience for the world that insisted on treating him like a minor.
By most accounts, he had grown into an honorable person, a good leader of men, a respectable siphsalar.
By most accounts.
Could she make decisions based on what others said about him, or on what she could still recall of him as a boy
“Is that all?” she snapped.
The messenger nodded. She waved her arm and the mercenaries whisked him away. Eyes fell upon her as she considered the choices ahead of her.
One thing was clear. Whether or not she liked it, fate had thrown her into a cesspool infested with greedy sharks. And she had to make choices, even if she
didn't want to.
The more she looked at things, the more she found herself at a crossroads. Return to Algaria and throw her weight behind one of the brothers, hoping that once they were victorious, they would deal justly with her? Or, she could continue to assert her own right to be the first sultana of the realm, the true heir worthy of the great sultan that had just passed. If the latter, she had two more choices. March straight to Algaria as she had been intending. Or take up Vishan’s suggestion and gather strength in the northern garrisons first.
“Both of your brothers, I beg forgiveness for overreaching quite so, are truly unworthy of the Peacock Throne.” wheezed Maharis. The two magi nodded. Some of the mercenaries joined them as well. “An opinion your esteemed mother shares as well. One she made most vehemently when I spoke to her earlier in the day.”
Nuraya arched an eyebrow. What need would her mother have to talk with a magus anyway?
“Nuraya,” whispered Mona, the voice so low she almost didn't hear it. “Be careful with what you do.”
Vishan turned toward her, the large nose flaring. “If you would have my counsel, there’s no better position than a kingmaker’s. Whoever you throw your weight behind will owe you great favors.”
She scoffed.
Vishan cleared his throat, then, undeterred, stepped forward once more. “Even with our recent victories, we lack the men and provisions to take on either brother, much less both of them.” He licked his lips, scratching his nose thoughtfully. “Or, as I’d said before, we could head north, strengthen our position at Kohkam, wait out the bulk of the fighting.”
“Nonsense,” rasped Maharis. “Now is the time. Once the prophet’s birthday has come and gone, and the priests have placed the crown over either Ahasan or Kinas, no one would accept her claim.”
There was surprising heat behind the words, the vehemence of his tone taking her by surprise. Hardly the counsel of a frail man who lumbered along most of the time, more a warrior taking personal affront.
Was it because she had freed his kind from the Kalb or did the man have other motives she didn't know? Come to think of it, what did she really know about him besides the fact he had been under her mother’s employ for a long time?
A loud clamor rose from beyond the hill. She exhaled, realizing the din had been growing louder for some time. The men were hollering, the animals snorting. Jinan’s last remaining mercenaries had arrived.
Her stomach lurched at the thought of the blood they had shed in the city, of the innocents that would have been caught up in the mayhem, of the children who’d been snatched from their parents, of the women who would’ve been raped.
Did all dark clouds truly have a silver lining? Was it possible no matter how high the cost, they might still be worth the results? Then another uncomfortable feeling took hold in her. It was easy to punish one or two men to set an example for the rest, like she had at Kark. What did one do to punish the majority of an army for not listening to commands that ought to have been given, but were not verbalized?
Where did the blame lie? Who was to be punished?
Nuraya rose from the chair. Her limbs groaned, each fiber of her being protesting at what she knew she had to say. Men, if kept occupied, did not have time to commit evil. That was what she had to do, needed to do.
“Vishan, prepare your men alongside Jinan’s. We’ve a long march ahead of us.” She exhaled. “All the way to Algaria!”
For a long second, the mercenary salar stared at her. Finally, his lips pursing, he stepped away.
Nuraya stood still as the world around her erupted into a kaleidoscope of motion. Men bellowed, called each other out. The horses snorted and whinnied. In the distance, beside the tree line, the coachmen moved the carriages about, the carts of provisions following suit.
An army, even one as small as hers, couldn't move too quickly so as to outrun their supply chain. A lesson she would have to remember despite the need to rush. Perhaps, that was also why Kinas was taking a while getting to Algaria.
“It’s time,” she said to Mona.
“You know best,” she replied.
Nuraya barked a short laugh. “I wish I did.”
Mona smiled. Then, she pulled her into an embrace. A second later she flinched, stepped away as if realizing Nuraya’s need to appear strong. “You’re a good leader,” she whispered. “Two major victories already. Before long, we’ll be at the capital.” She paused. “Hopefully… Father and Mother escaped the brunt of the riots.”
Nuraya swore. Had she ever offered her friend any comfort? She forced a smile. “Aye. And when we get there, before long, suitors will be asking for your hand once more.” She leaned forward, grabbing Mona’s hand into hers. “This time, I suspect your parents might find it harder to turn down the suggestions of the sultana.”
Mona beamed.
More shouts broke out. Something was wrong, Nuraya could tell by the sudden quickening of her heartbeat.
Slowly, Nuraya turned around. Her men were pointing at the city. Beyond the city. The deep note of a bugle sounded from beside her.
Nuraya opened her mouth, ready to shout at the nearest mercenary, but distant bugle notes rose from the west.
From the west?
Horror, terror creeping into her veins, Nuraya trudged toward the hill. Another bugle sounded behind her, just as more replies came from the horizon.
How could it be?
Buzdar had capitulated, its army vanquished, the leadership decimated.
She crested the hill just as Jinan came sprinting toward him, his iron mail bloody, dented. “My sultana—”
Nuraya didn't need to hear his words. Her stomach gave a violent heave as her eyes fell on the dark western horizon, at the darkness she had mistaken as clouds.
A moving, roaring sea of men and horseflesh. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Marching toward the shattered gates of the city lying in ruins. Pennants and flags flapped from their front rows, followed by bugles and trumpets using melodies not heard on Istani soil for generations.
The Reratish army had arrived.
“No!” Nuraya said, her voice strangled, hoarse.
“We have to go, my sultana!” shouted Jinan.
“No. This cannot be!” she said once more. “I... just met their ambassador.”
“They are too many. Almost a hundred thousand. We cannot fight them.”
Nuraya continued to shake her head. Mona ran over to stand beside her. “Gods have mercy!”
Jinan was shouting. Behind them, the horses whinnied, the mercenaries shouting, bellowing as they formed lines, their salars whipping them into formation.
“We have to defend the city,” she said.
“We can’t. Too few of us, none on the fortifications anymore either.” Jinan walked up to stand beside her, so close his arm brushed against hers. “The city is lost. We have to leave.”
She watched the distant sea of men continue to inch forward, the green hills darkening under their hooves.
They had been waiting for her to shatter the defenses from the weaker eastern walls. That job done, the defenders decimated, the Reratish had made their move.
She was responsible for this.
The sultana of the realm had cracked open the jewel of the west, then left it unguarded.
“No...” she whispered once more.
Jinan grabbed her by the arm, whipped her around until she stood inches from his snarling face. “We. Have. To. Go.”
Nuraya blinked, a massive scream bubbling up.
What had she done?
Vishan’s deep voice shouted at them from her right. Jinan let go of her, took a step back. “What are your orders?”
Nuraya looked at the faces of her salars, then turned to look one final time at the city, the entire province she had ceded to the enemy.
What choice did she have?
Chapter 31
Shoki
“Who did that to your eye?” asked Mara, tilting his head toward Shoki dragging his feet through th
e constant, miserable drizzle.
Shoki winced. “Not a topic I want to discuss.”
Mara scoffed. “Fine.”
“Fine!”
An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two of them, their feet squelching in the muck. They passed another half-turned cart, its contents long having been looted.
Shoki huffed. “What do you want to do in the capital anyway?”
“For one who doesn't like answering much, you sure do ask a lot.”
Shoki sucked his teeth. Asking and answering were two different matters. For all his talk of being a magus, and a djinn to boot, Mara sure liked to play dumb. Or perhaps, this was a clever ploy to draw him into an argument.
He fixed his one good eye upon Mara to show his displeasure.
What right did a commoner have to question a magus?
A djinn?
Shoki shuddered. His world had turned upside down so quickly and completely that even the idea of a non-human, a being of myths and legends didn't seem to be fazing him as much as it ought to have.
They tramped through more muck, passed more upturned carts. The bandits might have vanished for the moment, but at almost every mile marker they had left behind their signs—traces of blood the fine rain hadn't managed to wash away yet.
Shoki’s stomach growled. He grimaced. Barely three hours into the second day of marching and already he wanted to collapse on the ground and not move a muscle. He’d been foolish, even more than usual in letting the horse go. What a wonderful companion that beast would have made over the magus who didn't appear constrained by human limits.
Why did they pick me?
A stab of futile fury rose through Shoki once more. He knew the answer, of course, yet for some reason his mind continued to bring up the question. Both the grand vizier and leader of the Kalb had seen him as a weak, impressionable fool, someone who’d have absolutely no say on events.
Shoki chuckled. The joke was on them. They had planned and planned, and then the gods had all conspired differently.
“I’d kill for a drumstick,” he grunted, his mind reminiscing over the aroma of tender pieces of chicken rotating slowly over the spit, its juices falling down and the flames rising in response.