War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  All but one. The place where Mara had been sitting was now empty.

  “Kafayos, Jiza, you brought him here safely. Well done!” said the djinn surrounded by gray smoke. “We had been fearing the worst.”

  “Where is Mara?” demanded Shoki, stepping forward.

  “You said you had something to report to us,” said Namam, the kindly djinn, his eyes glittering like diamonds in the gloom. “Have you found what ails our society?”

  “I…” Shoki stammered, realizing he didn't really have a plan beyond forcing the enemy’s hand. He shook his head, forcing himself to stand upright. “I still cannot wield jadu. I said what I did… to force the enemy out into the open. To ensure they didn't have time to plan something that couldn't be countered. We can’t keep waiting for them to set terms of engagement.”

  Silence fell as the djinn exchanged glances. Shoki swallowed, feeling his chest tighten.

  “Your actions caused three of our brothers to become seriously wounded, leading to Azar’s capture,” said Namam. “One might wonder how much to trust your wisdom.”

  “That was extremely foolish,” drawled Kafayos.

  “I agree,” said Drenpa. “This individual poses a grave danger to Nainwa, threatening the frail peace that holds us all together.”

  Shoki forced a chuckle, ended up making a gasping sound. “W-what fragile peace, huh? Anyway, now that we—” He trailed away, another realization dawning. The last time he had been here, something he’d heard had rubbed him the wrong way.

  Talk of inquisitors fleeing balls of fire in the time of Afrasiab. And mention of the only other time that had happened since. Something no one should have known, except Mara who hadn't seemed like the one to blab.

  Shoki blinked, then turned his eye toward the Drenpa. “You… it’s been you all along, hasn't it? You sent the djinn after Mara and me in the human world. Something you admitted to, the last time we met here. You, who has always known our whereabouts and our course of action.” His voice was beginning to shake. Shoki inhaled, injecting steel in his veins. He had been the Sultan of Istan—even if that was less than two days—and he would not cower in front of a traitor, even if that was a powerful djinn. “You betrayed Mara last time and have done that once more!”

  Drenpa hissed, the smoke around him growing darker.

  “Is that true, Drenpa?” asked Namam, still seated, his voice just as calm as it had been.

  Shoki turned around, raising a hand toward Jiza.

  The ground shook, heaved, a massive, invisible wave rolling underneath them.

  Shouts came behind him, followed by a massive thump of something against the wall. Red light flooded the room, followed by more rumbling quakes.

  Shoki crashed to the floor, his eye shut, curling himself into the fetal position. Boots ran up to him.

  “Get up!” said Kafayos, his voice rising over the banging noises that seemed to have traveled further out.

  “Erm…” he said, lying perfectly still. He felt the djinn’s rough hands grab him by the armpits and haul him up.

  Shoki turned around, then gasped.

  Half of the wall had caved in. Beyond that, Nainwa resembled a war zone, the ground breaking apart, setting off massive mounds flying in the air. The djinn clan leaders—Namam and the two females—stood around the gaping hole in the room, watching in silence.

  “What happened?” asked Shoki.

  Namam turned toward him. “I might have been wrong about my earlier conclusion. At least we now know who had been working against us all this while. Considering what’s at stake, this is a fair price to pay.”

  “What’s at stake?” asked Shoki. “Why would… they attack me? Why capture Mara?”

  “Matters well beyond your comprehension, I’m afraid,” replied Namam, his voice carrying a dismissive note Shoki had heard most of his life.

  Shoki blinked. “Ha! You say that to the one person you’ve pinned all your hopes on!”

  “Perhaps another mistake on our part.” Namam stepped forward. “Azar is a wise djinn. But not one immune to mistakes, especially considering his… personal involvement in this mess. It appears our past experiences with Afrasiab continues to give us false illusions of what your race is capable of.” He raised a placating hand. “Not your fault, of course. One that’s entirely ours. There are other ways; with the surge in magic we can use artifacts to strengthener ourselves even further.”

  Shoki stuttered back, not liking the direction of this conversation. The djinn leader knew why these miscreants had come out in the open, but hardly seemed as concerned as he should have been. “What are you planning to do?”

  Namam nodded to himself, crossing his arms over his chest, paying no attention to the havoc behind him. “Yes, the more I think about it, the more I see how wrong it has been to bring you to our world in the first place. You’ve still not recovered your power. And far from helping us address our issues, you seem to have stoked new ones.”

  Shoki blinked. Mere days being addressed as the sultan hadn’t really managed to confer the Iron Sultan’s unwavering strength of character on him. Fear spreading in him, he took a step back. “W-what are you going to do to me?”

  “Your time here has come to an end, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you… you going to kill me?”

  Namam frowned. “I’m banishing you from this realm. You are to never show your face here.”

  Shoki felt cold relief pour through him. No matter how things had gone down, this was what he’d wanted from the first day. “How—” He ran a hand through his hair. “What of Mara—Azar? If Drenpa has escaped, how are you going to find Mara? I have to help him.”

  “We take care of our own better than you can imagine.”

  “He’s too weak,” said Jiza, stepping in beside him. “Banish him to the human world in this state, and he’ll never be able to withstand more attacks from Drenpa and his cohorts.”

  “More attacks?” said Shoki. “In the human world?”

  “As if that’s our concern,” scoffed Kafayos.

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with Kafayos,” said Namam. “We’ve much more important matters to think through instead of allowing false hopes to distract us.”

  “Then I am going with him as well,” said Jiza. “That’s what my clan leader would have wanted.”

  Startled, Shoki turned toward her. “You?”

  “So be it!”

  Shoki raised a hand, confused, unsure of what was happening.

  Namam raised both his hands skyward, and a wave of crippling blackness came over Shoki.

  Chapter 15

  Nuraya

  “I wish we had Fanna priests to truly welcome you here, my sultana,” said Wagen Laded, the Reratish siphsalar in charge of the army besieging Qwasad, his sodden tunic sticking to his thin body under the drizzle. “Not every day the common soldiers get to see the future queen of Reratish with their own eyes.” He raised an apologetic hand toward the gray skies. “Also, I wish we had better weather to welcome you in!”

  “My messengers came through alright?” Nuraya asked, striding toward the massive gates of Qwasad, not slowing down, her boots trudging through the wet slushy ground. Muttering, Camsh tried to keep up with her.

  “They did. Alas, the nizam of the city still refuses to open the gates for us.”

  Camsh cleared his throat. “I’m sure that’s a minor misunderstanding. Easily rectified.”

  “Certainly,” said Wagen slowly.

  Gritting her teeth, Nuraya stopped and inclined her chin. Now that she stood in the shade of the great walls and the towering guard towers dotting the perimeter, she could see why the Reratish wanted to subdue the castle before venturing any deeper into Istan. Qwasad sat nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains on two sides. A natural choke point. Any army that didn't control Qwasad could not penetrate further north, nor could it truly stem incursions by locals who understood the terrain better.

  A smaller city than Algaria, but blessed with elev
ation, sturdy walls, and a ground too mushy for either cavalry or infantry boots—factors making it just as impregnable as the capital had once been.

  At a whim, Nuraya turned her head back. As far as she could see, Reratish forces milled about the sodden landscape, their triangular flags emblazoned with the holy red oval hanging limply on poles under the rain. Thousands of men. Probably as many as ten thousand, stuck in the muck and rain for weeks, waiting for defenders of Qwasad to come out and join them on the battlefield.

  She turned left, saw the little smattering of her men setting up tents away from the Reratish horde.

  The Reratish horde!

  She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. How many of these men had come pouring through Buzdar when she had been forced to vacate it? Was Wagen Laded one of those men as well? How had they celebrated her folly that day?

  She forced herself to turn back toward the city. All her life she had laughed at the Reratish and Zakhanan for being too puny, too backward. Now, these nations, small and poor as they might have been, were running amok over this sacred territory. And men she should be cutting down were feting her as their queen-to-be.

  Abba, forgive me for what I must do! Despite the pelting rain, she stared up at the gray heavens. Oh, Unseen God, are you watching what’s happening? Aren't we your chosen people? Why aren’t you helping us!

  She strode forward, not listening to the prattling Reratish siphsalar. At least she had made the right decision in bringing Camsh along with her, leaving the rest of her council behind.

  A hundred yards from the main gates, a bugle sounded, and she stopped.

  “Halt!” came a shout. An Istani voice, tinged with the harsh northern lilt.

  She glared up at the walls. “I am Nuraya Istan, daughter of the Iron Sultan. Send your nizam to receive me.”

  No response came.

  Camsh cursed, his leather vest sticking against his scrawny body. Nuraya exhaled, thankful for the large overcoat she was wearing over the peshwaz, providing a modicum of dignity. The Reratish siphsalar looked similarly unaffected, glaring at the gates, his right hand tense as if expecting to draw out his sword at any moment.

  “Princess Nuraya Istan,” came a man’s wheezing voice from above, almost drowned by rain pelting the ancient walls. “We received your missives. Rabb as our witness, we were most surprised by your instructions calling for us to cede this great city to the enemy.”

  “Not ceding,” she shouted back. “Allowing the Reratish to establish an embassy.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We have provisions and the advantage of a good supply line up north. We can wait out the cowardly enemy for months, if not years.”

  “My Sultana,” the Reratish Siphsalar rasped. “Prince Sabrish is most insistent on ensuring the north is pacified before firming the alliance between our peoples.”

  “Oh, is that right?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What gave him the idea that our alliance came with conditions of his own?”

  “Ever since he received yours.”

  Beaten, she gritted her teeth. “And your intentions are truly peaceful here?”

  “Of course. We desire peace just as much as anyone else.”

  Camsh affected a discreet cough and sidled up to her. “I still think the north holds little worth for them. Their ultimate objective still lay in the east.”

  East. As in Algaria, surrounded by the Zakhanan armies.

  Nuraya exhaled, looked up again, shielding her eyes against the rain. She had decided to cast her die with the Reratish prince. That meant giving in, so she could demand more later. “Nizam, on my honor as a scion of the family responsible for the safety and integrity of Istan, open the gates, and allow a small contingent of the Reratish forces to enter the city. They intend to establish a small, peaceful presence and nothing more. Surely that is a much better alternative than starving your people?”

  Again, no response came for a long time. Shielding her eyes, Nuraya watched the distant outlines of archers shuffling on the guard towers, their bows still pointed at them.

  Would they have dared raise a weapon at Abba?

  “Very well, Princess,” came the Nizam’s voice. “On your word, we will let in no more than a hundred of them.”

  Nuraya exhaled, feeling tension drain from her limbs that she hadn't even realized was building up.

  “The prince will be pleased. Most pleased,” said Wagen Laded, his lips peeling back to reveal yellow teeth. “Pray, follow me,” he said, pointing toward a pavilion being erected between the Reratish forces and her men. “Let’s engage in some merriment. We may not have priests, but some fine singers still accompany us.”

  Nuraya leaned back in the high-backed, uncomfortable chair. Three Reratish male dancers jumped in the air, twisting and contorting their bodies to the accompaniment of some Reratish instrument that looked like a lute blown up to three times its usual size, trading its mellowness along the way for a low screeching timbre.

  “I am a culturally open-minded person,” confided Ranal, leaning in toward her. “But I must admit, the Reratish culture fails to impress me much. I mean, observe the musical scale they employ. Not one that sets the heart soaring with joy, nor one that fills it with melancholy. A hodge-podge smattering of notes on a ghastly instrument, followed by a random thrashing of limbs that seems to follow no cultured manner of aesthetics.” He shook his head. “A truly sad state of affairs if these are the people getting the better of their cultural superiors.”

  “Hmm,” she said. Didn’t Shoki use to play the lute as well? She cast a glance toward the city walls. The sun now hung low on the horizon, awaiting the moment before it would let the darkness overcome it. True to his word, hours ago, the Reratish Siphsalar had sent only a hundred men accompanied by a grave looking official dressed in bright silk robes.

  All was well. She had helped the Reratish prince as he had demanded. A condition of his she had met, in turn expecting to exact more concessions from him. A delicate game of give and take, just like her mother had employed all her life, one Nuraya would follow suit. Once she was finished, she’d be the sultana of not just Istan, but the queen of Reratish Kingdom and Zakhanan empire as well.

  That was why kismet had been thwarting her thus far. Wasn’t it?

  “Camsh,” she said, snapping her fingers. Sitting at her other side, he jumped. “Where are Jinan and the inquisitor?”

  “Ah,” he replied. “I thought it might be better if we didn't let the two mingle too much with the Reratish forces. Not yet, anyway, considering their past history with them.”

  “Wise call,” she said, then winced as the music picked up its tempo. “Do they really need to be this loud? Do I have to stay here?”

  “Just another hour or so,” assured Camsh. “I think they’re building to a crescendo.”

  She scoffed. “Can’t come soon enough. At least the nizam had the good sense to not accept the invitation.”

  Squirming, she readjusted on the chair. The pavilion was huge, enough to house a hundred men, its canvas walls specked with large red ovals, a partition blocking her view of the Reratish forces on the other side. A structure that looked all the bigger considering just a dozen of them sat within.

  Nuraya snapped her fingers and motioned Maharis to take Ranal’s seat. The nobleman grumbled but vacated his seat for the magus.

  “You like reading up on history. What’s with their obsession with the red ovals?”

  The magus scanned the ovals, one hand scratching his pockmarked cheeks. “Symbol of infinity. Since they officially follow the Fanna religion that knows no gods, instead believing the world itself to be divine, they use the symbol to stand for the circularity of all creation.”

  She considered his words. “But that is most foolish. They are shunning all other abstractions by setting up a new one?”

  He bared his teeth. “Such is the limitation of the human mind. There are certain bounds that it simply cannot escape. The need for symbols is another crutch
hard to let go. Even the new schools of magi are—”

  Nuraya waited, but Maharis fell silent. “Magus, what were you going to say about the schools of magi?”

  Maharis coughed. “My sultana, as you heard from Naila, the world has changed far too much for certain old, antiquated traditions to continue. Ones such as the Kalb Inquisition. As magi setup formal structures, building codes of conduct to ensure we remain free yet answerable to our peers, there will no doubt be symbols we, too, will begin ascribing to differentiate between us, whilst still binding us together.”

  Nuraya rubbed her forefinger with her thumb. Two of the dancers leaped high in the air, followed by more rhythmic thrumming of drums. “So, there is no chance of the magi falling back to the control of the inquisitors?”

  “An arrow once unloosed, never returns. Though, as I promised, I’m going to do all in my power to see the inquisitor gets to witness our desire for peaceful co-existence firsthand.”

  “You…” she said, her voice breaking, finally seeing what she should have a long time ago. She cleared her throat. “This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? You supported Mother because she promised you this future? And later, you found another unwitting supporter in me. That’s why you and your brethren continued to support my claim, didn’t you?”

  “My sultana, that—” Maharis fell silent, then raised an eyebrow. “You’re very observant.”

  Nuraya absorbed the admission without letting emotions get the better of her. There was no apology from the magus. No hint of contrition. Just a proud statement of facts on where they all stood.

  More evidence of the world moving on without her, shaping itself to events she no longer controlled.

  It was wrong. She was beaten for the moment, but not out yet.

  “One thing you should not worry about,” continued the magus, “is us picking sides in the battles plaguing these lands. We have… other, much more important matters to occupy us.”

  “Like destroying this Divide that Shoki referred to?”