by Fuad Baloch
Shoki turned his head toward the temple, rubbing sweaty palms over his damp face. The queen stood outlined beside the high arch, her hands carrying three stones. Ordinary-looking black lumps of coal from this distance. Shoki’s heart stirred once more. Beside him, he heard the djinn gasp.
The stones were familiar.
Asghar artifacts, able to enrich a magus’s dwindled well. Again, the tug at his heart grew fierce, pulling Shoki toward the queen.
Again, the djinn’s hand grabbed his arm. Only this time the grasp was childlike, enough for Shoki to free himself if he really wanted. Who was the djinn trying to restrain there?
“Not good…” muttered the djinn.
From the corner of his eye, Shoki saw the knights thrash into the Sultana’s Hands, smashing a path through. Within seconds, all semblance of discipline and formation had melted away, leaving a writhing mess of limbs and howls not that different from what he had seen outside the city walls.
Shoki felt the magi’s faces light up even from the distance. He didn’t hold jadu at the moment, but his heart sang with exhilaration as the three magi renewed their wells.
They stepped out of the archway, each one of them at the moment powerful enough to rival the likes of Afrasiab.
Old Maharis motioned a bald mercenary toward him. Deraman, Shoki realized with a start. The magus rubbed his hand over Deraman’s bald pate, his lips moving silently for a breath before stepping away.
Deraman’s body convulsed, shaking as if under a fit. Then he grew still. The next second, his body began to bulge, his biceps filling out until they burst through the shirt, his height increasing until he stood a giant of eight feet.
Deraman roared and the earth seemed to shake. A few of the armored knights rushed him. The bald giant waved his sword, a puny thing in his over-sized hands and swept them away almost disdainfully.
The other two magi walked in opposite directions, clutching the artifacts the queen had given them. Their lips moved silently, men flinching from their sight.
“Not good,” growled Mara once more. “This is not going to work.”
“What…” Shoki fell silent, his eye following the direction the djinn was pointing at. Six riders were riding downhill. Nothing extraordinary about them from the distance, except for the swagger in their movements, the lack of care for their safety.
Shoki knew who they were.
Enemy magi.
Again, he tried reaching for his jadu. Failed.
A loud, high-pitched scream filled the air. Shoki shoved his fingers into his ears to drown it out, but it continued to build. Shoki jerked his head toward the temple. Queen Aleena stood snarling outside the temple complex now, her arms outstretched, her jaw wide open.
Three armored knights of the Sultan’s Body sprinted toward her. She pointed her fingers at them, and they froze in place as if transformed into statues. Shoki blinked. They were still alive somehow, their eyes rolling in their sockets, tongues lolling out of the mouths.
Queen Aleena dropped her hands. The men fell to the ground.
“Emotional manipulation,” said Mara. “A rare Jaman skill-set. Most extraordinary.”
“Why is she doing this?” asked Shoki, surprising himself with the absurdity of the question considering all else going on. Then, he shook his head. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. At the very least, he had to warn Nuraya to get away before the magi found her. “Azar Houhanama, you promised to help me. Fulfill your promise. Help her, for gods’ sake!”
The djinn stared at Shoki for a long breath, long enough for Shoki to start fearing the worst. Then, he nodded. Letting go of Shoki, the djinn magus stepped forward and raised his hands in the air.
Air crackled around them. Shoki took a fearful step back. Like he had before, the djinn began singing, chanting in that unearthly language that set Shoki’s hair to stand up. A thunderclap sounded overhead for a second, followed by a sizzling sound.
Shoki gasped. More fighting men were looking up as well. Three balls of fire, bright and fiery in the fading sunlight, hung in the air. Sentinels witnessing humans destroy each other. Then, with a whooshing sound, they raced across the plaza, heading south.
“No…” whimpered Shoki, fearing he’d been hasty in what he’d asked for.
The enemy magi had stopped some two hundred yards from the fighting, their hands raised in the air—an act most magi seemed to prefer even when they didn’t need it to reach their wells. Shoki caught sight of Nuraya riding hard uphill toward the Shahi Qilla, hurtling toward the magi.
One of the magi turned his arms toward the fire balls. Shoki’s breath caught. Not too long ago, he had been in their place, shaking in his boots as the fireballs unleashed by the other djinn raced toward them. These men were powerful, more knowledgeable than him. Did they know they were up against a djinn? Would that knowledge help them?
Mara’s shoulders sagged. He hissed, faltering for a second, before resuming his chanting at an even more furious pace. For a second, Shoki’s worried gaze fell on the queen who screamed no more, her own eyes tracking the descending fireballs as well.
Shoki’s breath caught.
Silly, untimely questions rose in his chest. Why had the woman married the Iron Sultan? How had she hidden her powers for so long? Why had she killed her husband?
An answer of sorts lurked from the periphery of his intuition.
He shook his head then jerked it back toward Nuraya, toward the magi who still stood their ground. Was one of them the red blob who had been leeching blood from the wounded? What powers did his companions have?
The fire balls thrashed into the men without much fanfare. One second, Shoki saw the fleeting glimpse of six figures illuminated by an orange glow. The next instant, they were gone, their bodies flickering brightly for a short breath before winking away.
Nuraya and her riders came to a stop some twenty yards from where the magi had been lying in ambush.
Shoki breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, I—” he said, turning to the djinn.
Mara was gone.
Shoki scanned the grimy, bloody faces for Mara’s. Then, he turned back toward the woman who’d taken over his heart. It seemed an altercation of sorts had broken out there. Two of her companions were pointing at the fighting they had left behind, another was pointing up at the Shahi Qilla looming ahead.
A breath later, they turned around and began riding back toward the fighting. Shoki smiled, his heart skipping a beat, sensing Nuraya coming closer.
With no djinn to restrain him, Shoki stumbled forward. He carried no sword, and his body had still not recovered from the last time he’d held jadu. But he didn't care. He had to get closer to Nuraya, to warn her of the dangers that lay ahead, of all the magi she needed to watch out for.
Men called out to him as they lay bleeding on the cobbled streets of Algaria. Shop fronts to either side of the wide roads were smashed, bits of furniture and tossed merchandise littering the streets. Shoki ignored it all, trudging forward, his eye straining to find Nuraya once more.
At memory of the queen, he jerked his head toward the temple. This deep into the thick of men, he couldn't see past the tall arches and minarets rising into the sky.
The battle was over though. Either the death of their leader, or the magic wielded by magi had sapped the knights’ will to fight. They fled now into the many alleys and streets that cut away from the arterial road.
The Sultana’s Hands didn’t pursue them. They hollered and whooped in delight. A hundred had come through the city walls. Some of them had died, yet more than a thousand of them—strengthened by others who had joined them—stood now.
“Shoki!” came a rasping sound from his left. Shoki came to a stop, turned around, then gasped.
Inquisitor Altamish Aboor glared at him underneath the charred husk of a shop front. One of his arms hung limply, unnaturally, the sleeves bloody. His eyes scanned Shoki’s eye patch, his face growing slack for a moment. Then, he shook his head. “Shoki
, do you now see what your sultana has unleashed on the world?”
“Y-you!” growled Shoki, blinking back tears of terror and pain at the memory of what this man had done to him.
“A little evil is better than the great one,” growled the inquisitor. “Who cares which child of the sultan, or some lost scion of kings long dead, sits on the Peacock Throne so long as the greater threat, that of abominations like you is well-contained?” He barked a laugh, inching back into the doorway. “Look what you’ve done! Right it, if you can!”
Shoki licked his lips, suddenly unsure on how to respond to the inquisitor. “You…” The inquisitor turned around and disappeared into the shop. “Come back!”
Shoki took a step toward the shop then stopped as men began shouting behind him.
Chapter 44
Nuraya
“Oh Rabb!” Nuraya exclaimed, her senses numbed by the repeated shocks, her eyes now scanning the aftermath of the battle with the Sultan’s Body.
They had just turned away from the charred remains of six riders burnt to a crisp by fiery balls of doom, only to return and see the dismembered corpses of knights who were meant to have protected her with their lives.
“Oh Rabb!” she said again, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Things were happening too quickly. Barely two days since their arrival outside the city, and now the walls had been reduced to rubble, her mother had turned out to be a magus who’d killed Abba for reasons only known to her, and the sky was filled by hurtling balls of fire.
Her heart thudding in her chest, Nuraya spurred Vengeance forward, glad she couldn't see her mother wherever they had left her behind. The sun was barely visible over the high temples in the plaza, a golden light filling the bloody streets.
“I’ll gather the men,” shouted Jinan. If he was affected by all that had happened, he didn't let it show. “Stay put,” he told Mona, then rode off, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
Mona joined her, one hand covering her mouth. She hadn't taken part in any fighting, but as she turned her horse around, Nuraya spied a sword tied to her saddle.
“Nuraya,” said Mona, her voice hoarse, strained, her eyes turned to the corpses.
“Yes?”
“Can’t believe Hanim is dead. Feels like yesterday when we last met him.”
Nuraya bit on her lower lip. Hanim, Abba’s oldest confidant was dead. At the hand of her mother. One more link to Abba severed. Nuraya swallowed, finally acknowledging the rising terror she’d been trying to ignore so far.
Hidden currents were running underneath visible ones. Plans within plans. Machinations she’d never seen or suspected. How had she never seen past her mother’s confession? Why had she gone weak and not punished her mother when she had the chance? Had Maharis been reporting all her movements to her mother all along, the four of them conspiring what they’d do when they entered the city, without her suspecting anything?
Did all that weaken her argument for taking the Peacock Throne?
Bloody men were beginning to gather around them. They shouted in a dozen languages, waving their bloody swords and dented shields, their faces betraying no remorse.
“We’re going to smash through the Shahi Qilla’s gates!” growled a man closest to her.
“Smash through!” shouted another beside him, one wearing the livery of Algaria’s City Guard.
Nuraya nodded absentmindedly.
Had her mission really changed? No matter how she got there, wouldn't she still make a better leader than Ahasan who couldn't even keep his word to her? Or Kinas, who only knew how to kill others through deception?
She nodded once more. The trajectory of her life remained unaltered. No matter how many clouds tried to hide the sun, like they had been this afternoon, the sun always burst through eventually.
She had to claim her position as the rightful heir to Abba. Once she sat on the Peacock Throne, then she’d take to task all who had hidden facts from her. None would go unpunished. None. The magi… would be tricky. But she’d work something out. She always did in the end.
“To the Shahi Qilla!” shouted the same soldier again. This time, the call was taken up by a lot more soldiers. Like wildfire, the call spread, morphed into variants, the air ringing with the declarations.
“To the Shahi Qilla!”
“The Shahi Qilla!”
“—the brothels in the eastern quarter—”
“—our share of the booty—”
Chewing her lower lip, she heard their cries even if she didn’t pay them much attention. They had agreed to follow her, giving up their worldly goals to join their cause with hers. And now that they sensed victory, like vultures they clamored to feast upon the grand city she was meant to rule.
She growled, wringing her hands in frustration. Jinan was making his way back to her now, his shadow stretching long to a side, a gravely wounded Rurik beside him. As Nuraya tilted her head sideways to scratch her chin, her gaze fell on two young boys no older than eight standing beside a Husalmin priest. Their faces were grimy, their elbows bloody. Neither the priest nor the boys looked away, meeting her stare silently.
Far from the cheering she had expected.
This was her city, her realm, yet she, for the moment, she felt like an invader.
“I will not abandon you,” she whispered. “Not so long as I breathe will you sleep in fear this night.”
She was their leader, and all things she had broken, she would put together, better and stronger than before.
Pent-up rage bubbled up suddenly, something she could no longer contain. Throwing her head back, Nuraya screamed.
Her men fell silent, the mutterings and conversations dying as she felt their eyes focus on her, the rightful center of their lives, the lioness who commanded this pride, their sultana.
She howled, a she-wolf in pain, writhing in the grip of a fury the likes of which no other human could withstand. Amidst all the clamor, her voice alone became the focal point for all things breathing.
When she did fall silent, for a long moment, nothing else stirred.
Brandishing her sword, Nuraya spurred Vengeance forward. The soldiers, mercenaries, and turncoats all stepped back, not meeting her glare.
Blood pounded in her temples. Fire ran through her body. Rational thoughts were gone. Nothing but the overwhelming desire to win, to get this battle over with so she could begin the long war to reunify the nation that would take a much longer time.
Everywhere she looked, she saw men standing over trampled bodies. She had lost many of her own, had killed many of the enemies. So many lives that would never be replaced.
The Butcher’s Bill, she recalled the grand vizier call this.
She wasn't done yet.
“My sultana,” came Jinan’s voice from her right. “The men are ready and awaiting your orders to advance on the Shahi Qilla itself.”
“Jinan, no one is to harm the citizens of my city,” she said, her voice firm, strong.
“My sultana—”
“You are not just a mercenary salar, but a siphsalar of this glorious realm. I demand better from you and your men.”
Jinan clenched his jaw, but a moment later, he exchanged a glance with Mona and nodded.
Nuraya gripped the reins tight in her hand. “Where are the magi?”
Jinan hesitated. “They are with the… queen. It appears they have somehow managed to refill their magical wells.”
“Very well. Ask them to accompany me,” she replied. So long as they continued to follow her, it would have to do for the moment. All majesty and prosperity stands on foundations of blood. Another of the grand vizier’s observations.
Vengeance snorted and she looked up.
Shoki stood in front of her. His eye was red, his complexion pale, hair a mess. “Nuraya, we have to stop this!”
Jinan bristled at the manner of his speech, but Nuraya waved him quiet. It was good to have at least one person not hide away behind false facades.
“I’ve
seen first-hand why the magi were always supervised,” he said. “Abominations like me aren’t meant to live freely. We have to stop this!”
Eyes were turning toward her. She had been the one to disband the ancient institution of the inquisitors. Maybe she had been too hasty in tearing off the yoke of Kalb. But, didn't one of her brothers also have magi of his own? Besides, once the djinn had been freed from the lamp, one couldn't just wish the fact away.
“My sultana,” insisted Jinan. “Every moment of daylight we waste here strengthens Kinas’s position.”
“You have to leash us all,” repeated Shoki. He reached forward, grabbed Vengeance’s bridle. “You must!”
Her heart was racing. Regardless of Shoki’s words, Jinan was right. This wasn't the time for idle debates.
“Nuraya, promise me you’ll stop the magi!”
She nodded. “I will.”
Shoki was still rambling but Jinan shouted over him, yelling at the men to right their shields.
Nuraya forced a grin. The men needed to see her in their midst, the daughter of Istan guided by the power of righteousness, unafraid and leading them forward personally.
She turned south, cast her gaze uphill. Beyond the stone walls surrounding the Shahi Qilla, she could see the soaring minarets of the diwan-e-aam. Beyond the public court, lay the marbled arches of the diwan-e-khas, Abba’s home, and now hers by right.
She raised the sword. “Men of the Sultana’s Hands, do me proud!”
Her men cheered. Grinning, Nuraya spurred her horse forward.
“For the sultana!” someone shouted.
“For the sultana!” bellowed the others.
Her insides knotting up with worry, she forced a grin on her face. The end was creeping up, and she would meet it like a lioness.
Chapter 45
Shoki