by Fuad Baloch
Ruma stared, dumbfounded. “You… you would massacre those who laid down their arms to achieve peace?”
“A small price,” whispered Yenita. “Insignificant for their crimes.”
Time slowed down. A bead of sweat broke out on her back and started weaving its way down. Ruma swallowed, finding it difficult to breathe. Both of her generals were talking to each other, making plans already on how they would deploy the extra soldiers. She licked her lower lip, unable to put a reason to the indecision that had crept into her. After all, the woman she had been, wouldn’t have blinked before agreeing.
One of the delegates walked over to Popoan, shaking his head. “We cannot take anyone’s side. Not until we’ve laid the Uniter to rest and found her successor. Maybe there are other ways to help them in the meantime through provisions and—”
“Successor?” exclaimed Yenita. “Haven’t we already had enough of them?”
“I have to agree with the merchant girl,” General Restam cut in. “This is the time to take bold decisions. To change the flow of history instead of letting it drift!”
“We’ve already got the successor,” declared Brother Hadyan. He stomped his feet, setting off the bells in his hat. “She’s here. Right here.”
Popoan was wringing his hands. “Maybe we are rushing. After all, how can we… think of anything when we haven't even said the last rites for the Uniter?”
“Do them after you've put Yasmeen in an unmarked grave,” Yenita spat. Her face had grown red, the veins standing on her neck. “No better justice than that! For all she’s done to this peninsula, to my family, to your Uniter, there’d be nothing better than that!”
Yenita was a small girl, youngest by far in the room, but somehow they all heard her voice. One by one, the men and women fell silent, their expectant gazes falling on Popoan. He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe that is what Alf wants. Send us the captured Traditionalists and we—”
“No,” said Ruma, the word tumbling out of her mouth before she even realised it. The shocked silence that followed could have crushed them all by its weight, most of all Ruma.
General Restam approached her warily. “Lady, we must—”
“No,” Ruma repeated, hating herself for what she was saying, not recognising this person who had taken over her. “Popoan, my cause is just. You know that. Support us for the sake of doing right by your prophet.”
“But we must have our revenge,” Popoan protested. He pointed at his companions, then swept his hand over to her council. “Surely, you can all see that.”
“Alf…” Ruma shook her head. “And Gulatu Koza, your prophet, teach forgiveness, do they not? These men you wish to massacre in cold blood threw down their arms expecting mercy. Yes, they served the wrong mistress, but can anyone here truly say they’ve never offered allegiance to a corrupt cause before?”
“Ruma!” whispered Yenita. “What are you doing?”
Exhaling, Ruma stepped forward. Popoan flinched from her, one of the delegates coming to stand beside him. “Do the right thing.” She forced a chuckle. “Alf’s breath, take a leaf out of my book and do what’s right, not what should be done. This peninsula needs peace. Lasting peace. We can’t have that if the victors keep killing the conquered.” She clenched her fists. “We have to break the cycle.”
“Lord of the Worlds, set us on the right path,” Brother Hadyan started praying, his mumbling growing increasingly fervent.
Popoan turned his chin up. For a second, his beady, rheumy eyes softened. Ruma nodded, urging him. The man beside him whispered in his ear. The moment shattered. Popoan shook his head. “I sense the work of the Charlatan here. The Schemer is nearby as well. Go. Leave us be.”
“Now, hold on—” General Restam started as voices broke out.
“Old man, you won't get another opportunity like this!” growled General Nodin.
“We must offer the rites for the Uniter.” Popoan turned his back to them. “Leave us!”
One by one, her councillors turned to watch Ruma. She stood rigid, biting her lower lip. What in Alf’s blasted world had gotten into her? A voice only she could hear screamed at her to take her words back. They were right. This was a world forged by ancient, archaic codes of honour, an era where conflicts raged for decades, centuries even. She couldn't change all that. Besides, she wasn’t one anyway to be swayed by matters of grey morality against what needed to be done.
“Break the cycle, Popoan,” she repeated.
“This is not what the zulzulat demands,” said Popoan, his back still turned to her. “We follow the example of those who followed the prophet. The wrong must be punished in this life and the next.”
“The zulzulat is not the way of your prophet,” said Ruma. “Whatever these men wanted and did after him, they were not your Gulatu Koza.”
Someone gasped. One of her councillors. Popoan kept shaking his head. He, too, was muttering now. Some prayer beseeching the divine to shower his mercies on the dead.
“Lady,” hissed someone behind her.
She cleared her throat. “Popoan, do the right thing.”
For long breaths, Ruma stood still, her unblinking eyes watering, her heart hoping these men of God would see reason in her words.
Popoan didn't turn.
Finally, defeated, the weight of what her words had done crashing into her, Ruma pirouetted around. None of her councillors met her eye. Not even Yenita.
She lifted the flap and shuffled out.
Seven
The Path Ahead
A day had passed since her miserable meeting with the delegation and she had put miles between them, but as Ruma rubbed at her brow, staring at the town of Astrinor a mile ahead, the memory continued to sting her. Gritting her teeth, she raised her hand towards the town. “What’s going on there?”
“My scouts will be returning soon,” drawled General Restam, his horse whipping its tail about ceaselessly. Despite the early morning, his forehead was slick with sweat, but he made no attempt to wipe it away.
“It looks like they’re… fleeing.” She waved her arm towards the carts and camels and donkeys the town seemed to be vomiting. “It doesn't feel right. Is there an army approaching from the other side?”
“Likely, but improbable.” A horse neighed behind them but Ruma didn't turn her head. “Astrinor might be just two days’ ride away from Irtiza, but it offers no tactical advantage to an invading army.”
“Hmm,” she replied, her thoughts still scrambled. Behind her, the soldiers jeered and shouted, but even she could tell their mood was subdued. They all knew how her meeting with the delegation had gone, and it’d had just the disastrous effect on their morale she’d been trying to avoid.
Yenita pulled up beside them. Scowling, she glared at the rising sun, brushing dust off her shawl, then fixed her gaze at the general. “I couldn't help but overhear you not knowing what’s going on in that town. Is it me, or does this seem to be happening a great deal recently?”
General Restam shot her an intense, fevered stare. “Young lady, Alf has honoured you, raised you, but it pays for one to remember their roots.”
“Are you threatening me?” she demanded, cocking her head to the side.
“Stop it,” Ruma snapped. “Both of you!”
“With your leave, Lady,” said General Restam. “I must check on the men.” When Ruma nodded, he turned his horse around, then without a word trotted away.
“He doesn't like criticism,” Yenita said.
“No man does,” Ruma replied. Nor did she to be truthful, Ruma realised in the moment. If Yenita had the same thought cross her mind as well, she had the good sense to keep shut.
“Hadyan says he’s asked priests in Popoan’s camp for assistance,” said Yenita. “Even if not a formal alliance, there might still be some help he reckons he can get us.”
“That would be good,” said Ruma sourly.
Behind them, soldiers of the Lady’s Light were making a racket, their beasts braying and
neighing as her general shouted at them to form up. Exhaling, Ruma turned her attention back to Astrinor. Like ants fleeing a burning anthill, the town continued to empty. Astrinor was of a modest size, housing at least ten thousand souls, but as General Restam had said, being this close to the holy city of Irtiza, it had never been elevated beyond a resting spot for the faithful. Nor was it a name Ruma recalled hearing during her time with Arkos.
“Lady,” came Qaisan’s shout as he rode up to them. “My scouts report the locals are fleeing.”
Ruma narrowed her eyes. “I can see that much. Why?”
Qaisan coughed, a shadow crossing his unmasked features. “They’re fleeing you, Lady of the Sands.”
Ruma felt her mouth slacken. “Me?” She shook her head. “Why in the—” She trailed away. “Have the Traditionalists been here?”
“It seems their priests were in town as recently as last week,” said Qaisan.
“Her disinformation campaigns are working too well,” Ruma noted drily. “Even defeated, her poison thrives.”
“Maybe we should give them good reason as well,” said Yenita. “Skin their cursed priests so at least they won’t have to lie when they talk about us and the strength of our convictions.”
Ruma closed her eyes for a second. “To achieve lasting peace, all of you need to follow Gulatu’s way.”
Neither of the two replied to her.
Something that had been gnawing at her since she had pulled up grew clear in a flash of intuition. “Ten different roads lead to Irtiza. How did the locals know we were coming this way?”
Qaisan twirled his moustache as Yenita grew pale. “I didn't want to say anything until I’d confirmed the facts, but the timing does appear odd.”
Ruma’s mind went into overdrive, retracing her steps and the journey so far. “We’ve been moving as fast as possible. Quick enough to outpace most scouts, for we could have taken a number of routes to hit the Vanico forces. But then we had a… delay when we received the delegation at Lanam.” She clicked her tongue. “That cut down our possible routes to one.”
“They knew we were coming this way, down to the day,” said Yenita. “Oh, Alf!”
Qaisan grimaced. “Lady—”
“Leave me,” Ruma said. Then, she raised her hand. “Send word to the town assuring them their safety. Those who still wish to flee, they are not to be harmed.”
The scout general grunted but didn't turn.
Her insides clenched. “You have more news?”
Qaisan’s shoulders curled forward. “One of my scouts from the north-east returned a short while as well. One of fifteen I’d sent.” He wiped his face with a hand. “The Blessed Mother has taken Salodia. The… the defeat against the Vanico forces was a feint.” Ruma wheeled around in shock. “It seems she waited for news of her loss to spread, allowing forces besieging Salodia to grow lax. And then, she took them by surprise by ambushing them late at night with a small force that assassinated their top generals before the main battle even begun.”
Ruma blinked. “She’s… taken Salodia?” Her fingers crushing the reins, she shook her head. “Fracking shit, she set the perfect trap for the Vanico forces!” She licked her lips. “How reliable is this news?”
Qaisan lifted his eyebrows. “My man tells me she wasn’t even at the battle in the north-east. One of the maids he bribed had peered into the palanquin during the battle. Some young girl sat within wearing finery. The Vanico forces must have assumed she was Yasmeen after discovering her corpse.”
A terrible heaviness had settled in the pit of her stomach, dulling her reactions and thought processes. Breaths came in short, shuddering gasps. Something else bothered her. What Yasmeen had done on a larger scale was exactly what Ruma had been executing on a much smaller scale. Trick the Vanico forces into growing overconfident, then take them by surprise from behind. Where Ruma had been failing, Yasmeen had proven a master. “She’s played us!” Ruma slapped her thigh. “Alf’s rotten breath, that witch deceives everyone!”
No one replied, Qaisan and Yenita exchanging a glance.
“Do the men know?” Ruma asked.
“Not yet,” said Qaisan. He didn't say the obvious. Of course, the news would spread soon enough, multiplying into a hundred versions, Yasmeen’s victory becoming larger with each retelling.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Gareeb riding for them. She didn't acknowledge him when he shouted salutations at her. Her world was crumbling, the ground underneath turning into quicksand. Even if she had managed to secure an alliance with the followers of Dadua Contee, it would have been severely tested at this news. As they said in Arkos, the geopolitical situation had transformed overnight. In this game, at this moment, she was most definitely on the back foot.
Even as the three watched her, she wrestled with her thoughts. What could she do? What should she do?
“Lady, I bear grim news,” came General Restam’s shout behind her. Ruma exhaled as the general joined them.
“I know, Restam.”
“Ah,” he said, the wind going out of him.
“How did you know?”
The general pressed his lips, glaring at Qaisan for a long breath. “I’ve scouts of my own. Capable and resourceful.”
“Where’s Nodin?” she asked.
“Out with his men,” scoffed General Restam. “Probably preparing to desert us at the news.”
Ruma touched her throat, a silence falling upon them, and stretching painfully. They were waiting for her, hoping their commander had foreseen such an eventuality and could offer them a way out of it. She hadn’t. She couldn't. All her plans had been fracked up.
In the back of her mind, she could tell how rattled her generals were. Qaisan had called Yasmeen, the butcher of Alfi believers, Blessed Mother. Restam was referring to her soldiers as Nodin’s. She didn't chide either of them. Language was often the first victim in a defeat. Yet another blasted lesson she had learned.
“Shall I arrange for us to discuss the matter in the council?” asked General Restam.
“Hmm,” she said, her gaze falling back on the town. Gareeb was praying softly, her ears catching snippets of scripture calling out to Alf for strength. Despite the distance, her eyes found the minarets ringing the central Alfi temple.
“We’ll need to decide if we continue marching to Irtiza or not,” said General Restam slowly after she’d kept quiet for a long while.
Exhaling, Ruma considered her options. Yasmeen had planned well, successfully predicting what reactions she would elicit from her foes. That made her an extremely dangerous opponent. Something Ruma couldn't afford to ignore anymore. It was important to describe her enemy correctly though: Yasmeen was a general, not a prophetess bestowed with Divine insight. A good general didn't gamble until they had good information about their enemies. Information provided by spies.
Yasmeen had at least one spy in her camp. The town ahead was proof of that. There was no point in drawing up a plan if that was to be used against her. She had decided to ignore the matter before, but with Yasmeen’s hand becoming clearer, she couldn't ignore it anymore.
“We decamp here for now,” Ruma said, her voice cold like ice. “Qaisan, send more scouts ahead. I need to know the situation at Irtiza.” When Qaisan grunted, she snapped, “Now!” As Qaisan trotted away, she turned toward her other general. “Restam, send yours as well. Let’s see whose resources are really more capable.”
“Your will is my command, Lady.” General Restam bowed his head ceremoniously, then kissing his fingers and touching the tips to his eyes, he rode off.
“Gareeb,” she said, when the general was out of earshot. “You can write?”
“Aye, Lady.”
“Bring parchments. I’ve got instructions to write.”
Gareeb nodded, then rode away, heading towards a group of soldiers to their right. Ruma watched the three men she had dispatched, the restlessness within her growing.
“I’m sorry I’m of no use to you,” said Yenita.
“If anything, for the favour you’ve shown me, these men respect you a little less for it.”
Ruma barked a bitter laugh. “No matter how much I stumble, aren’t I still the fracked Lady of the Sands, the promised one?”
“I only wish I could serve you properly, take away some of the pain you must be facing,” Yenita said. Then, her face reddened, and she shook her head. “You saved our lives. I have to repay my debt.”
“If you hear the men chattering about something I should know, bring it to me without haste,” said Ruma. “News like today’s forces re-evaluation of loyalties, even by those one doesn't expect any from. I’d rather know what they’re thinking now than be facing a mob.” She clenched her fists. “If they’re not man enough to bring their concerns to me in person, then I’ll just have to cut off their balls for them.”
Yenita blinked, her full lips drawing apart to reveal her white teeth. “That’s the fierce Ruma I remember knowing.”
Ruma smiled. “I guess one can’t truly overcome one’s nature.”
Yenita cocked her head to the side, the shawl slipping off her head, her hair appearing golden under the sun. “Perhaps.” Her face fell. “Last night, Sivan and I were discussing trade routes. Once peace returns, Sivan reckons we can lead a caravan of our own.” She hesitated. “All this would have excited me a great deal before. Now, I can't even feign an interest.”
Ruma offered her a sad smile, grateful for the segue the girl had offered her. “Your priorities are changing. If it helps, the same happened to me as well a while ago. These changes tend to creep up on you.”
Yenita took in a long breath. “We need to trick the bitch, don’t we? Do something even she cannot predict.”
Ruma nodded, her attention drawn back to the town. “She forces me to sit back, think, slow down. All things I hate.” Her soldiers had set up posts, screening the locals for any Traditionalists who might be trying to hide within the locals. No one had a way of peering into a man’s soul, but maybe the Traditionalists, if they had been hiding in Astrinor, would be stupid enough to draw attention to themselves.