Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  Not an army really, more a gathering of mercenaries that followed her for the moment, their animalistic, baser selves still lurking within their chests.

  Something she couldn’t forget.

  Also, worthwhile remembering that no matter what these men declared, they were hardly a shade compared to the real soldiers they were going to meet once they arrived at Algaria.

  More worrying thoughts rose in her mind, Vishan’s question taking ascendancy. Once they did arrive at the great city’s walls, exactly what was she going to do? They had no siege weaponry, nor did they have either the numbers or the expertise to try and starve out a bustling city.

  There was an even larger threat.

  Kinas’s men, battle-hardened and baying for blood, surrounded the capital. If it came to a battle between Kinas’s men and hers, she knew her forces would be mowed down like blades of grass.

  And even if her men survived Kinas somehow, they stood little chance when time came to face the world’s best longbow archers with an inexhaustible supply of ammunition, and the advantage of elevation atop the city walls.

  Was she dooming them all?

  Did these men have any inkling of how expendable they were to her, one who carried the proud Istan family name without the nous that those like Abba had possessed.

  Snap out of it! she told herself firmly. I am the one in the right here, and my intentions are noble. Rabb is on my side!

  “My sultana,” came a gruff voice from behind her. One she had been expecting.

  She exhaled. “Come again to counsel that I flee to the northern citadels?”

  Vishan's horse snorted, its long neck lathered with sweat. “The day is gone. We should let the horses and the men camp for the night.”

  Startled, she looked around. True enough, the shadows were beginning to stretch out long behind her. Somewhere out there to the east, Algaria waited.

  Irritation and an unexpected wave of anger rose through her. “Rabb is on our side. Why wait and delay doing what is right?”

  “We keep going at this pace and horses and men are going to get broken.”

  Gritting her teeth, Nuraya forced herself to calm down. Sultana or not, she’d learned to great detriment that she didn't have unlimited power. A good leader couldn't just snap her fingers and demand, but often ended up acting a glorified shepherd, always tempering her own wishes in accordance with this teeming mess of rancid-smelling men.

  “How far are we from the city?” she asked.

  “Another two days or so,” said Vishan, then hesitated. “The north—”

  “Enough with the north! I am one with the siphsalar on the need to commit fully to the war.”

  “The siphsalar,” hissed the mercenary salar, shooting an ugly glance toward Jinan. “The butcher of innocents, more like. Can’t remember the last time he ever fought real soldiers.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Had you been in his position at Buzdar would you have fared any better?”

  Vishan jerked his head toward her, the eyes firm, hard. “Any man would have done better than him.”

  She half heard what he said, her mind already straining to cross one more crest, wanting to keep riding without stop until all this unnatural greenery gave way to the familiar sameness of the never-ending sands.

  Vishan still rode beside her.

  She sighed, made a shooing motion. “Very well. Get the men to camp for the night.”

  Without comment, Vishan rode away, leaving her alone to her dark, troubled thoughts.

  Istan was under attack on three fronts, her borders invaded by foreign powers, her heart a flashpoint for the late sultan’s children.

  She pulled on the reins and motioned one of the men to come forward.

  “Make sure you pitch my tent away from the queen,” she commanded. The man nodded then rode away.

  Nuraya sucked her teeth. Come to think of it, she could barely keep her eyelids open. When was the last time she’d had a whole night of sleep? Not something she could remember. When was the last time she’d had a half decent meal that wasn’t half boiled potatoes and dried beef strips? One more thing she couldn't remember anymore.

  Doesn't matter, she told herself. She’d be fixing it all soon enough. She was the sultana, the most deserving of Abba’s children to take on the mantle of responsibility.

  The voice in her mind chided and mocked her. Had Abba ever felt the need to keep reminding the world and himself that he was the sultan? The sun needed no affirmation—it merely dawned and that was that. That she had to keep defending her claim spoke volumes.

  She was a lioness without her pride.

  A queen with no territory.

  A mere claimant, not the holder of the scepter yet.

  Nuraya prowled the perimeter outside her tent. On her instructions, hers had been set near a stream, far away from her mother’s. When Mona had come to see her, she’d sent her away too.

  Restlessness choked her chest as she pranced beside the brook running past her tent. Two Sultana’s Hands assigned guard duty watched her warily, so far from her they were little more than silhouettes against the flickering torchlights.

  She clenched her fingers, then unclenched them. What was wrong with her? Not just anxiety of what lay ahead. Nor simply the weight or regret of what her actions had already wrought.

  Something more primal. A heavy, clogging, gagging wistfulness she couldn't shake away. Round and round she walked around the tent walls, stopping to watch her reflection in the dark water.

  A hundred yards downwind, the Sultana’s Hands’ cook pots burned in the clear, dark night. She was taking them to a battle where most of them wouldn't survive the much better armed and trained foe, but at least she was letting them sleep at night and have something in their belly, so they didn't grumble when the angels of death approached.

  Jinan and Vishan had both visited her an hour ago. It seemed war and conflict were times where certain kinds of men sought fortunes. Ranal Badar, second son of a banner man to the Ameer of Herala had joined them with two hundred horsemen.

  People still sought her.

  Hardly the kind she needed though.

  Mere soldiers of fortune. Mercenaries. An ever-growing number of wenches and hangers-on that followed them. Three magi that largely kept to themselves now.

  This was her lot.

  “We should stay here a bit longer,” Vishan had argued. “Let all who do wish to join our cause seek us out.”

  “Nonsense,” Jinan had declared. “We risk giving up the initiative.”

  She had scoffed at that, waved them both off. There was no initiative to be had when they were so woefully outmatched. Nor would the mere trickle she was attracting stand against her brothers. And the only option she was left… was one she never wanted to unleash.

  “What am I going to do?” she muttered to herself, watching the waves distort her image. The night was overcast, turning her features to blobs of gray and black. Her eyes prickled. She blinked. A tear leaked from her left eye. She made no attempt to stop it. Whether she liked it or not, the darkness shrouded her from others. She was there in the middle of them all, yet in the night, apart from them.

  The dam broke.

  As the cool breeze from the brook and the distant forests caressed her cheeks, setting the ends of her matted hair fluttering, she let the tears flow. They didn't need much encouragement. At first, a cautious trickle, then a deluge of salty wet down her cheeks, falling on the overgrown grass.

  She stayed like that for a long time. Hugging herself, she sobbed, moaning for the loss of all she had ever cherished, now lost for good. Abba, her carefree life, all respect for her mother, integrity of the Istani Sultanate. Then she cried some more for the foolish mistakes she had made.

  Maybe she should never have left the capital in the first place. Perhaps, she should have been more concerned with Abba’s health. Had she not fled her uncle’s hospitality, maybe Buzdar wouldn't have been pillaged by her men, before falling cheaply into the
enemy’s lap.

  Circumstances. Choices. One she’d had no control over having been dealt a terrible hand. The other though was for her to claim.

  Her insides twisting, she whimpered, the tears falling, falling. She would have howled had she not feared being heard.

  Laughs, shouts, jeering came from behind her. The mercenaries—her men—were doing what men did when facing momentous occasions, work on their bluster. While they did that, their leader sniveled in the dark, bawling like a little girl.

  This is not you! she told herself again. Stop it!

  Placing a hand on her chest, Nuraya forced her breathing to slow down. With the other, she wiped snot off her face. For a long time, she stayed there, her body swaying softly, her thoughts darker than the night itself.

  When she finally turned, the guards were gone. Eating, perhaps. Relieving themselves, most like, putting a respectful distance between them and her.

  Figures walked around the fires. Far in the distance, she thought she saw polearms and halberds—men tasked with keeping the first watch.

  She shook her head as her eyes fell upon the young Ranal’s banner, a green hare, flapping atop a tent to the right. He was almost her own age but behaved like a spoiled child who still hadn't lost his milk teeth.

  Two shadows shambled toward her. A tall figure, the walk an awkward shuffle. The other belonging to a man weighed down by armor.

  The second shadow broke into a trot toward her, some distant torchlight revealing a guard’s face. “My sultana,” he huffed, his Nirdu heavily accented, “this man insists on seeing you, and wouldn't take no for an answer.”

  Nuraya inclined her chin. Something about the tall shadow was familiar, making her heart want to shout at him to hasten forward.

  “I apologize. I should have sent him away,” said the guard.

  She raised her hand, her heartbeat quickening. Then with a wave, she sent the guard scurrying away, waited as the figure shuffled toward her.

  “Shoki,” she whispered when he was a pace away.

  For a breath, the two stared at each other. He wore an eye patch over his face now, his long hair matted to the sides. “What happened to your eye?”

  “Lost it,” came his reply. The same voice but somehow different. A mix of resignation and defiance.

  “Oh...” she said stupidly, blinking at him. A jumble of confusing emotions rushed through her. Now that she looked back at it, she’d always been intrigued by the humble city guard from Algaria. Not infatuation, as Mona might have called it, but definitely nothing stronger either. Something else. Fascination mixed in with wonder. She shook her head.

  “I didn't expect to see you,” said Shoki.

  “Nor I you.”

  Shoki shifted his weight. Nuraya frowned. Not just the voice. Something about the way he stood was different too. A self-assurance she hadn't picked in him before.

  “Now that we meet again,” said Shoki, his voice strained, taking a step forward, coming to stand so close she could hear the creak of his leather jacket over the distant buzz of voices, “there is something I should do before I never get the chance again.”

  She swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he stood to her, a part of her repulsed at his gall, wanting to strike his face, the other morbidly curious at what was transpiring, a disembodied conscience watching on with amusement. “What?”

  Shoki stood still for a breath, a conflict of his own raging in his face. Whatever strength he might have picked up was draining right in front of her. Nothing she’d not seen before.

  She waited, for once happy to cede control. After all, nothing good had come from her thrashings against kismet.

  Shoki leaned in, an arm raising awkwardly. She inhaled sharply, knowing there was still time to put him in his place—a realization that no doubt struck him as well as he hesitated. Then, his hand settled on the small of her back. She stiffened, a jolt running up and down her spine, her skin prickling all over. Shoki made a strangled sound, then inched closer, his face inches from hers.

  Again, she hissed. But didn't pull away.

  All her life, princes of distant realms had tried to woo her. Powerful sons of wealthy ameers had crowded the diwan-e-aam to steal a glance at her, merchants and priests and viziers and siphsalars all offering their sons, hoping to get ahead in life.

  She’d never had a man like Shoki pursue her before though. One of such humble background. One who lacked all pretense and seemed undeterred even when she was at her lowest.

  Something broke within her. Self-pity at how low she had fallen. At the man who’d lost his eye. At all the things that had gone wrong.

  “Argh,” she hissed, shaking her head. Then standing on her tiptoes, she placed a hand on his hair, pulling his face down to hers, then kissed him fiercely on the lips. He smelled of salt, the earth, a mix of wood and sweat.

  He responded to her, his hand traveling down her back, slowly, awkwardly. She pulled herself against his chest and his hand dropped, cupping her bottom.

  Shoki moaned, his teeth clattering against hers in an awkward fumble before his lips found hers again. Nuraya’s eyes were shut, the mind free of thoughts, distractions, worries. Nothing but the soft noises coming from their mouths.

  The world melted away. Just the two of them under the stars. No sounds but theirs and the gently bubbling brook. No concerns or desires except this burning, raging fire inside her. An animalistic urge to take a man, to divert her mind from all that had ailed her. To—

  No!

  Nuraya pulled away, shoved him in the chest. This wasn't right!

  “What—”

  “Shoki,” she hissed, taking a step back, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “I...” he scratched at the eye patch. “I—”

  “Did you give my missive to the ameer I’d sent you to?” He shook his head slowly. Nuraya pursed her lips, raised a finger, the skin still tingling with the memory of his touch. She was sultana of the realm. She couldn't make the mistakes Abba had made, even if that seemed to make her happy. She wouldn't.

  “What’s the m-matter?” he asked.

  “Go,” she hissed, hating the sound of her own voice, repulsed by what she had to do for the sake of both of them, at her own weakness. “Go back to the ameer. And… do not return until you’ve got me the support I asked for.”

  Shoki stood still for a long breath.

  Then he turned around without a word and stormed off into the dark night.

  Chapter 35

  Shoki

  Shoki’s skin prickled at the memory of her against him. Soft tingles ran along his body, the smell of her hair still just as intoxicating, heady.

  He forced a rueful chuckle, kicked a pebble, setting it sailing in the distance, one hand holding the mare’s reins. “Thank you, oh, great sultana, for sending me away yet again.”

  There was probably good reason for what she did. For the way she’d banished him once more. There had to be, even if he couldn't see it.

  “My fault,” he muttered to himself. Another matter of fact. She resided in the heavens, resplendent and bright, where his abode was on the lowly ground. The brilliant sun might shine its warmth upon the ground, but it also left it every day to the cold night.

  She had kissed him, hadn't turned him away. Why?

  Again, the memory of her soft, moist lips against his, her warm body pressing against his hardness, rose in his mind, set him shivering.

  He sighed. She might have sent him away, but even she couldn't take away his memory of last night, something that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

  His mind drifted, the eyes scanning the deserted road ahead. Just him and the mare following him. All this time, he had been clamoring to return to Algaria, to find out what happened to his parents, to return to the life he knew, yet once more, he was traveling north-west.

  He shook his head. How could things change so quickly?

  He had lost an eye. T
he sultan was gone. Istan was being invaded. His parents were dead.

  And he of all people had the abominable spark of magic.

  A magus. That was what the djinn had called him, right before disappearing into the darkness.

  Shoki trembled, his soul shrieking at the wrongness of it all. In wars, lives change within instants, something Salar Ihagra often said, but those few words uttered by the djinn had upended everything Shoki had always known about... well, basically everything.

  He shook his head, forcing his mind to the task the sultana had given her, one he could understand better.

  Again, it appeared that kismet had presented him another opportunity where he could have said no. And yet again, he hadn’t even put up any token resistance. Could he not have said something like, “I am not suited to the task, my sultana. Surely, one of your esteemed salars, Jinan probably, would be better suited to such a delicate task?”

  Nothing. He had merely kept quiet, the familiar cowardice and fear returning to his chest even as his senses burned having touched her.

  The sultana had made a mistake kissing her. A moment of indiscretion that even she was apparently capable of, and when she’d realized that, he had been dismissed.

  Shoki turned his head to face the mare. “Do you understand her reasons?”

  The horse snorted, shaking its head sideways. Shoki sighed once more. It seemed even the beasts had not much to offer him.

  His shadow stretching out in front, he tramped forward morosely. What good was it to muse over what he should have said against what he actually had? He had a chance, and he’d blown it.

  “I’ve got to stop being the ceremonial rug everyone wipes their dirty shoes over,” he muttered. “I need to be more assertive.” As if on cue, he saw Jinan, grinning smugly at him, standing in front of a dozen of his men. Shoki raised a finger, contorted his face in the best approximation of the pompous salar, then cleared his throat. “Sultana’s Hands, fear nothing and stand firm like mountains, for... I... I have arrived.”