Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  The mare snorted. A nameless, featureless beast they had given him to carry out yet another errand that had nothing to do with what he wanted. Shoki exhaled, blinked. The phantom eye twitched, a dull pain throbbing weakly behind where the eye would have been.

  Gritting his teeth, he let his mind wander, setting the thoughts free to fly, soar, sink, do anything so long as the self-pity didn’t return.

  The inquisitor leaned in, his breath warm on Shoki’s neck, the mustache dark and foreboding in the dim torchlight, warning all the things he was going to do to him in the name of honor and serving the sultanate.

  Honor! Shoki scoffed, ignored the bile rising in his throat. In which world was marring him for life something the honorable did?

  What was done was done.

  Another realization arrested his thoughts.

  If what the djinn had said about him was true, and he could wield jadu, what did it make him for the inquisitor? Was he a rogue magus now, destined to a life on the run? Was he meant to acknowledge himself for the abomination the world held his kind to be, present himself to the inquisitors, let them collect his blood, bond him for as long he lived?

  Again, Shoki kicked a pebble, then cried out when the cursed thing turned out to be part of a boulder, refusing to budge.

  “Argh!” He sank to his knees, fingers grabbing the toe. This was his life. Bumbling, falling, stumbling through everything.

  He stopped, felt his heartbeat quicken.

  What did being a magus even mean?

  His heart stirred, an urge to let go, not that dissimilar to the feeling when he pissed. An Ajeeb magus the djinn had called him, one with the ability to swap energies.

  What did that really mean?

  Licking his lips, he rose on shaky feet. He raised his right arm toward a fallen twig. A small thing. Nothing grand. He twitched his finger, strained his will.

  “Rise!”

  The leaves around the twig rustled as a gust of wind blew over.

  “Rise!” commanded Shoki once more, feeling all the more foolish as his horse watched on. “Rise, you damned thing.”

  The twig remained still.

  “Argh!” Shoki let out a squeal of frustration, then kicked the twig, taking a macabre delight as it flew. That brought scant satisfaction though. Any monkey could have done that as well. No, he needed to recreate whatever he’d done to do magic. Wield the fundamental forces of nature. Be grand!

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned his eyes to the hill cresting the horizon up ahead. Fifty or so miles away, a hard, three-day ride.

  Could he possibly swap the place he stood on with one over the hill? The thought was so preposterous, it set his mind reeling. Before it would overwhelm him, he raised his hand toward the hill, held his breath steady.

  What was he meant to do here? Command? Wish? Beg? The damned djinn had disappeared far too soon. What harm would have fallen if he’d stuck around and made sure Shoki wouldn't be this lost on his own?

  “Swap?” said Shoki, hoping, praying something would happen.

  Nothing happened.

  The usually dull pain in his skull throbbed and he let out a frustrated cry. The sun was beginning to set now, its lower half kissing the treetops. Memories of him on a road very similar to this wafted up. He’d been alone then as well, just him and a horse. Were there riders in these woods watching him this very second? Had the inquisitor found him once more?

  Shoki jerked his head up, the heart thudding in his ribs.

  Nothing came charging at him.

  He clambered onto the saddle. If there was someone watching him, the least he could do now was offer token resistance.

  He couldn't let the same things keep happening over and over again.

  Once astride, he double-checked his heels were firmly planted, then gently clicked them. The horse neighed, thankfully choosing to continue at a brisk walk than the gallop Shoki had been fearing. A definite improvement.

  He’d never been a natural horse rider, nor did he think he’d ever become one, but slouching on the saddle, the horse following the trek on its own, his thoughts wandered again.

  Shoki chuckled. He’d never been one to stay by himself for too long. Growing up, he’d always been surrounded by other kids. The city guards had been much the same experience. Never enough time for any reflection or deep thoughts, not that he was really capable of them.

  And now, when he could really do with some company, it was just him and his shadow. Well, that and the mare.

  A wriggling, annoying feeling rose within his chest; an itch crawling under his skin. He swatted at the back of his right hand with the left. “Dammit!” Contorting his arm, he forced his hand up his back to the one blasted area that was itching like a rash. The itch climbed higher.

  “Perfect. Just gods’ guts perfect!”

  Grunting with frustration, he gave up. What was the point? Compared to the constant twitches in his eye socket, any other distraction was almost welcome.

  “Just you and me, girl,” he said, patting the mare on the neck. The beast didn't even have the courtesy to neigh or snort back. Shoki grimaced, hung his head.

  His eyelids drooped, his tired fingers growing slack on the reins. What would he give to be back at Algaria, to turn back time so he could warn his parents of what was to come? Or failing that, warn his foolish self to run, the moment the inquisitor’s riders came out of the woods.

  A whimper escaped his lips. An involuntary, cathartic sob followed. Tears leaked through his good eye, ran down his grimy cheek. Wishes and regrets competed for space in his heart.

  I’m a magus.

  The sudden thought gave him pause, its audacity chilling him to the core. Had he really deadened the sword’s blade to strengthen his will? Is that what the djinn meant by him swapping the potential of different things? Was that something he could repeat?

  Closing his eyes, he let his mind float, untethered and free. A million thoughts rose, swimming too fast for him to hold on to anything.

  He ignored them all. There was something in the midst of them all, a raging current flowing without drawing attention to itself. He reached for it, his fingers reaching, grasping.

  Icy cold.

  His fingers slipped, the current slipping away. Again, he reached, failed. Like a slippery fish in clear waters, he could see the damned thing, but whenever he lurched forward, it was always too far.

  A mountain of frustration descended on him, the weight crushing him. He ignored that, his senses enchanted by the channel raging with immense power.

  Power and possibility.

  He squinted. He was looking at it the wrong way, his eyes showing him a liquid when his touch always found a solid substance, his mind somehow finding it smoke whenever he reached for it.

  Not just one thing, then. Something larger, too complex for him to grasp through words. That last part didn't matter—oratory hadn’t been his strong suit either.

  He pulled the floating thoughts toward him. They flew inward, cords of gossamer silk retreating into themselves. Ephemeral, formless ideas gained substance, weight within his grasp. He extended his hand toward the channel again, swapping the understanding of his own worthless self, of all these thoughts in his hand with the raging current in front.

  His fingers found the channel, grabbed onto the icy shards.

  Stayed put.

  Shoki’s shot open his eye. He was on the meandering horse, going at a speed less than a man’s brisk walk. But the power within him thrummed like a lute string.

  He could feel the world around him brim with an energy, a buzz that accompanied everything. He could sense the weight of the leaves on the trees, the ages of the trees, the composition of grass trampled by his horse’s hooves.

  None of that made a lot of sense and would probably have terrified him had he got the time to really reflect on the experience.

  Swallowing the growing lump in his chest, he turned his eye back toward the hill, still a long distance away. He cou
ldn't see anything beyond it, but he could feel the manner in which the hill pressed down on the ground. He looked down at himself, felt the pressure they were applying on the ground below.

  Could he swap them?

  Like a child instinctively crying out, he swapped the hill with his location.

  A crackling sound burst overhead, so loud it set his horse to raise its legs, throw him off to the wet ground. The ground groaned, a deep rumble vibrating against his own chest.

  “By the gods, I stop! I stop!” Shoki cried, raising his hands in the air at nothing in particular, at everything. “Just make it stop!”

  With another groan, the ground ahead shuddered, a shallow crack forming all the way from his feet toward the hill.

  Shoki gasped, his heart frozen in his throat. Whatever he had done was far from what he had wanted to do. Then again, why had he expected anything to change? Magus or not, he was just as shit at everything.

  He blinked, a distant glint catching his eyes.

  A city?

  He couldn't remember seeing one on the rudimentary maps he had consulted before setting out. But maybe, the maps had been old.

  His limbs shaking, he rose unsteadily, headed toward the distant lights, the horse following right behind.

  Chapter 36

  Nuraya

  “We have to attack,” Nuraya insisted. Jinan shifted his weight, his eyes crossing over to Vishan who exhaled visibly. She shook her head, raised her finger at the distant ant-like figures crawling beside the great walls of Algaria. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be for us to get through to the Shahi Qilla.”

  “My sultana,” said Jinan, chewing his lower lip, the end of his turban flapping in the strong breeze across their vantage position overlooking Algaria. “We simply do not have the numbers to mount—”

  “Nonsense,” she cut him off. “My men make up in spirit for what they lack in numbers. With me beside them on the battlefield, there is no way either Kinas’s or Ahasan’s dogs would overcome the Sultana’s Hands.”

  Both salars exchanged another glance, something unsaid passing between them. They kept quiet. A distant buzz of voices floated over from the killing fields outside the city walls, mixed with the whinnies of their horses finally resting after two days of hard riding. They were a good mile out to the west, atop the hills offering them a view of the city and the graveyard of Matli. To the north of city, she could see another army nestled between the stunted trees, one that also contained elephants Kinas must have brought all the way from the north.

  Sands surrounded Algaria on three sides, and the only two directions where trees still dared to grow, no matter how stunted and puny, armies stood, watching men die just outside the walls.

  “Your brother Kinas is also leading his men from the front lines,” noted Vishan, waving his hand north. “The advantage of you personally leading the men might not be as great here as it might have been at Kark.”

  She sucked air through clenched teeth. “Excuses, excuses. That’s what both of you are giving me. What good am I doing standing up while both my brothers jostle for the Peacock Throne? Are we only going to show up when it’s time for coronating the victor?”

  Another glance. Jinan cleared his throat. “We could always wait a bit, see which direction the wind is blowing before committing our forces.”

  She forced out a strangled chuckle. “Really? You’re the one to counsel restraint after what you did at Buzdar?”

  Her siphsalar pursed his lips but had the sense to look appropriately chastened.

  She extended her right hand. Wordlessly, Jinan slipped her the eyeglass. She raised it to her eyes. Snarling, shouting faces of bloody men jumped to her view making her flinch. She didn't lower the eyeglass though, instead panning it around.

  A sea of men and swords and silent howls painted by streaks of red followed her wherever she turned. Enmeshed into each other, the men looked less like opponents and more like lovers reaching for each other in throes of passion.

  She knew better of course. A thrill of adrenalin coursed through her veins as she recalled the rush when she had faced the guards at Buzdar and mowed down any who had stood in her way at Kark. This would be no different. Sure, the scale was different, the enemies far too many, but the fundamentals hadn't changed.

  They needed to swoop down from the hills, charged by divine fury, mowing down any that dared stand in her way. Then, get through to the Shahi Qilla and root out Ahasan. Simple as that. Something these men couldn't see. She scoffed, lowered the eyeglass. “Prepare my men.”

  Jinan opened his mouth as if to argue. She glared at him and he fell silent, turned around, his shoulders slumping. If she was meant to feel any sympathy for the mercenary salar, nothing stirred in her chest. He raised his hand and started to bark orders.

  Nuraya sighed.

  Her mind drifted. Hardly the time to be distracted, yet, for the moment her subconscious broke through her restraints. So much had gone wrong. Her own mother had betrayed her. She’d lost the west. They were hopelessly outmatched here. She’d sent Shoki away.

  Her thoughts lingered, staying with the man she had kissed. Kissed! She saw the hurt spread out on his face as she gave her command. Like a puppy kicked when down, he had blinked from the one good eye he had, stayed still for a long breath as if not really believing what he was hearing.

  When he had turned around, it had taken all the control she could muster to not call after him. In the end, she had watched him go. She’d liked the man from the beginning, she now realized, with some shock, she had even enjoyed her… moment with him, but she had to sacrifice personal goals for something larger and grander.

  Jinan looked up and exchanged another glance with Vishan, something unsaid passing between them. She frowned, turned to Vishan.

  “My sultana, it’s more than likely both of your brothers know we’re here already,” said Vishan, his words slow, deliberate. “Perhaps, it might be possible to… pick a side, strike a bargain from an advantageous position than by remaining on the sidelines.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And acknowledge one of them as the sultan? Have I traveled all this way to keep hearing the same arguments from you?”

  Vishan opened his mouth, then his eyes fell at someone behind her. Clapping a hand to the forehead, the large salar bowed his head.

  Nuraya wheeled about. Queen Aleena smiled serenely at the men as she glided toward them. Dressed in a red peshwaz, the veil so sheer it hid practically nothing of the perfect face and hair under the harsh sun, she looked every inch an Istani queen. Calm. Collected. Self-assured.

  Queenly.

  Mona and Maharis accompanied her on either side, her friend’s eyes downcast as if fearing her anger.

  “These are mercenaries, dear daughter,” declared the queen, her voice measured, calm like the surface of a mighty ocean. “They only fight when there is a chance of coming out better than they go in. The last people one looks to for sound counsel.”

  “The queen speaks the truth,” said Maharis, bobbing his head.

  “Quiet,” Nuraya hissed. Mona’s head jolted up as if the words were meant for her. Her mother, of course, didn't even deign to look her way.

  “Ah, what has happened to our fair capital,” she said. “Makes one wonder whether the fate of this wonderful city is going to be similar to my Buzdar.”

  “Mother...” hissed Nuraya once more, for once finding words deserting her.

  “Daughter, no matter how much I dislike the counsel of your... salars, even I have to agree this is not a battle one would win by entering headlong. March down with this pathetic strength and you’d throw away all we have worked for our entire lives.”

  “We?” Nuraya growled.

  The queen nodded. “Aye, all we have done for you. Regardless, the real question that remains is whether you’re going to take a rational decision or not.”

  Nuraya clenched her fingers, her eyes threatening to bulge from their sockets. Once more, with a casual stroll
, her mother had seemingly taken control. And like moths to a flame, all three idiot men around her were nodding as if hearing the great prophet Binyom himself.

  “You are astute,” declared Vishan, offering a wide grin underneath the bulbous nose. “There is a better alternative of course. We do not have to commit at all. The North remains empty. We could have made home in one of the castles up in Kohkam, but with the fort of Orsa lying undefended, we could base ourselves there and muster our strength. Once a few months—”

  “Now that’s a most preposterous thought,” offered Jinan, smirking. “We are not the cursed ones to slink away like beaten dogs. Nay, now is the time to ensure we get to pick the victor and—”

  “Quiet!” Nuraya shouted. They fell silent, their eyes scanning her face. Even her mother stuck out her lower lip and turned toward her. For her part, Nuraya was shaking, unable to contain the rage within her chest.

  All her life, she had been forced to listen to her mother, to sacrifice her sensibilities for the sake of this woman, this murderess, and she’d had enough.

  “Mother, you are to return to the carriage set aside for you. Mona, I trust this time you will ensure she doesn't leave its confines except at my explicit instruction.”

  Mona nodded and gestured to the queen who kept quiet but made no effort to move away. “What are you going to do, daughter?”

  Nuraya glared. As much as she hated to admit that she was wrong in rushing into the killing fields, maybe there was greatness in admitting that, and trying for another way.

  Even if it was a way she didn't like and even dreaded. Some things, once unleashed, couldn't be put back. Despite all she’d done already, there was still time to undo the damage, but if she persisted, it’d be like unleashing the djinn from his lamp. Once gone, it could never be put back.

  She raised the eyeglass once more, panning it toward the gates. There, to the western side, men swarmed over an opening in the gates. A sally gate that had given way against the crush of men and horses and the few northern elephants in the fray.