War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  She pulled her shoulders back. “I do not intend to hunker down like a rat and hope the worst passes.”

  “As you wish, girl,” said the inquisitor.

  Nuraya kicked her horse and pulled right up to him. “What did you call me, old man?”

  Inquisitor Altamish Aboor wasn't someone who cowed easily to authority. A reason she suspected why he’d been discharged from the army after he lost his leg. Even if he had been more compliant in the past, spending all this time as an all-powerful agent of the Kalb had seeded pride in his chest. Yet, she fixed her glare on him, invoking all the strength of character she had inherited from Abba. He looked away. “I… shouldn't have called you that.”

  “No, you shouldn't have.”

  He nodded, not apologizing, but admitting defeat in his own way. A breath later, he continued, “What do you have in the north if you won’t take refuge with us?”

  She considered his question. Could she trust him? True, the inquisition and its inquisitors had answered to the Peacock Throne for centuries, but what did that mean in this world that everyone kept reminding her had changed radically? Besides, what loyalty did he owe her, a sultana only in name?

  “I fought for your father,” he said, nodding as if able to read her mind. “His army didn't treat me well, obviously, but I am not going to betray you.” He thumped his chest. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. Besides, something is wrong. A hidden war we’re not seeing. I can protect you.”

  She nodded, believing him. A silly thing, considering how many people had betrayed her. But something about the inquisitor’s manner reminded her of Hanim, the old commander of Sultan’s Body, another soldier who had lived and died serving the sultan he had sworn to obey. Nuraya exhaled, turning her horse to follow the scouts ahead taking a narrower road to the east.

  Camsh cleared his throat when he caught her eye. A warning not to trust a man whose intentions she couldn't divine, no matter what words he uttered. But that was true for everyone around her. Even Camsh, despite how intertwined their fates had become. She squinted at the path ahead. “Time has come to reach out to anyone who can help me in the war to come. A war that is inevitable now.”

  Behind her, she could hear the men shouting. Some sort of argument had broken out. Next, she heard Jinan bellow, his words gibberish but the murderous intent clear.

  “And who might that be?” asked the inquisitor, his words clear despite the clatter.

  She exhaled. “My brother.”

  “Ah,” said the inquisitor.

  Camsh gasped.

  Nuraya kept her eyes firmly ahead. “No matter what’s happened between us, what comes next affects him just as much as it does me.”

  “My sultana,” said Camsh, exchanging a glance with the inquisitor. “Not trying to excuse what the Reratish did, of course, but perhaps we should consider the possibility of the Reratish salar going rogue, and carrying out the attack, despite what Prince Sabrish wanted? If we turn away from him now, we may never get another opportunity at a rapprochement.”

  “You’ve heard of this prince’s many tales of brutality, haven’t you?” asked the inquisitor. “This man doesn't just conquer his enemies. He vanquishes them. Smites them to dust, squeezing all opposition to pulp. A salar more ferocious than even the most bloodthirsty Zakhanan siphsalars running high on promises of heaven their priests have filled them with.” He chuckled. “In a way, I can rationalize the Zakhanan reasons for torching everything they come upon. Religion! But whatever moves the Reratish prince?” He scowled. “He’s not right, that man.”

  Camsh didn't respond. Perhaps he’d had the same reservations as well.

  Shifting in the saddle, Nuraya looked over the treetops. Half an hour or so before the last vestiges of daylight would vanish for good. She raised a hand for the soldiers behind her to slow down—no good cantering ahead in this light—and pulled on her own reins as well. The mare snorted, slowing down. “Assuming the Reratish siphsalar followed his prince’s orders, why even bother attacking Qwasad? By setting up an emissary, he could have still secured his flanks. And once our… alliance would have been secured, he’d have nothing to worry about.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Camsh, stroking his chin, “it’s not in his nature to leave himself vulnerable?”

  The inquisitor chuckled. “There’s another possibility too.”

  “What?” she asked when he didn't continue immediately.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” he said. “He is making a point. He doesn't need you, not as much as you thought anyway.”

  Nuraya clucked her tongue. They weren't wrong. The Reratish bastard had sent a message by disrespecting her so openly. An alliance that he wanted to secure on his terms. A shiver came upon her. She had been ready to marry him! What possible compromises would she have ever secured from him?

  How close had she come to making another monumental mistake?

  She might be her mother’s daughter, ready to follow in her footsteps, but the Reratish prince was nothing like Abba.

  Nothing changed the fact she had lost Qwasad as well, due to her willingness to strike a bargain. More lives lost on her account. Another famed city overrun by infidel boots.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the pain rising in her chest. Why hadn't she reached out to Ahasan in the first place? She had been willing to communicate with the butcher of Buzdar, but not with her own flesh and blood. The last of her family. Pride. That would be the end of her.

  Opening her eyes, she shook her head, chuckling dryly. A year ago, who would have imagined that all she would be left with would be her fat and lazy brother, all other members of her family returned to the Unseen God?

  Horse hooves thundered behind her. “We should camp for the night,” shouted Jinan. “Can’t keep riding in the dark.”

  She nodded. Just as she was about to turn toward the siphsalar, her eyes fell at the road ahead.

  Two figures were shambling toward them.

  A girl, dressed in scandalously revealing clothing, her curves visible despite the distance.

  And a tall, lanky man, with the awkward gait of a duck.

  Chapter 18

  Shoki

  “No,” Shoki croaked, not believing what he was seeing.

  “The peasants said the road was deserted,” cried Jiza beside him. “Should we prepare for fighting?”

  Shoki whistled, took a step forward.

  The rider at the head of her army dismounted. Three more men joined her. Once more, Shoki blinked. It was too dark to see their faces, but he could’ve sworn one wore a black turban, and the one beside him, a gray one.

  Their leader, a woman judging by her curves, strode toward him, her companions keeping pace with her. The thousand or so horsemen behind her all stared at him. The dying sunlight caught the woman’s eyes and Shoki froze.

  “Nuraya!” he whispered.

  Sultan Anahan’s only daughter, the woman he had loved more than anyone in the world, didn't slow down. Shoki swallowed, his mind recalling the last time they had met.

  The parting hadn't been a pleasant one.

  Frozen like a dumb mule, Shoki stood still, watching her approach. A foot away from him, Nuraya raised a hand, then slapped him on the face. Hard. The slap rang out in the air. Shoki yelped, taking a step back, pain shooting through him. Blinking away the tear gathering at the corner of his eye, he turned his chin to her.

  “Good to see—”

  She raised her hand again, then slapped him again. Halfway through its descent, Shoki ducked his head away, then grabbed her wrist. She tried to yank her hand free, but he didn’t let go.

  “You… You one-eyed usurper!” Nuraya seethed. “I’m going to kill you!”

  Still holding her hand, Shoki stepped forward, not caring for the snarling men beside her shouting at him to let go. “Nuraya, I had my—”

  She kicked him in the abdomen. Shoki stumbled back, both hands falling to his belly.

  “You are guilty of heinous crimes! Rising a
gainst me in rebellion. Killing your queen. Denying me the throne that was rightfully mine!”

  Doubled over in pain, Shoki heard her words come from afar. Jiza huddled beside him, an arm draping over his shoulders, shouting if he was alright. He wasn't alright; the pain wrought by shame and pain far too much to bear in the moment.

  “What should we do with him?” said one of her companions, his tone clipped, cultured to perfection.

  “I believe I owe him a debt,” said another voice. A deeper, more foreboding one. The owner of the voice, wearing the gray turban, limped forward, and Shoki felt his heart sink.

  “Inquisitor Altamish Aboor!”

  “The very same,” said Inquisitor Aboor, one hand curling his bushy mustache. “Never did imagine seeing you again.”

  Instinctively, Shoki’s hand rose, falling over to the patch covering the eye this man had carved out. The inquisitor’s eyes followed his movements, his lips pursing.

  “Rabb as my witness,” said the inquisitor, after a moment’s hesitation. “You did better in the end than I had given you credit for.”

  Grimacing, Shoki rose to his feet. He recognized Maharis standing right behind Nuraya. Impossible! Noticing his glare, the Zyadi magus flinched and looked away. Ignoring the brooding inquisitor, Shoki raised a hand toward Nuraya. “You’re keeping an eclectic company, I see. The magus who betrayed you, and the inquisitor who did all he could to kill you. Two men who couldn't hate each other more even if they tried.”

  “You…” she sputtered, her bright green eyes finally traveling to the woman standing beside him. Despite the growing darkness, Shoki could register the flicker of surprise crossing her face before she turned back to him. “You’ve a lot to answer for, one-eyed. For all the crimes that you committed—”

  Shoki hissed—a reflexive, involuntary reaction from his body that had been through far too much these past few weeks.

  Nuraya reached into her vest and pulled out a dagger.

  A man beside her shouted at her to stop. Shoki blinked. Nuraya lunged toward him. “You are going to pay for your crimes!”

  Shoki dodged the first attack, parried the second thrust by slapping her wrist away in the nick of time, but never saw her feet that hit his abdomen with an almighty strength, taking the wind out of him. He crumpled to the ground.

  “Stop!” Jiza shouted, stepping in between them.

  Snarling, Nuraya shoved Jiza to the side, then reached for Shoki again, the dagger still in her hand.

  Dazed, Shoki crawled away just as the weapon came down. Sparks flew when the steel tip hit the cobbled highway. Still lying on his back, he kicked at her knee, connected. She lost her balance and, with a shout, fell over him.

  Shoki clambered backward on his fours, but she pounced at him again, pinning his arms underneath her knees and sitting down on his chest.

  “Ow!” protested Shoki, looking up into the green eyes he’d thought he’d never see again.

  She raised her arm, the dagger gleaming in the faint moonlight. “You —”

  “My sultana,” shouted the man with the cultured voice Shoki had not seen before. “I counsel restraint. Considering our current predicament, he could be a useful ally.”

  Still straddling him, Nuraya turned her head around. “He? An ally? By Rabb, you’re jesting!”

  “Your mother would have destroyed the realm,” croaked Shoki. “I had no choice. You didn't listen to me.”

  “If you can consider negotiating with the Reratish prince,” said the inquisitor, “you can talk with him as well.”

  Nuraya grew quiet, her eyes returning to him.

  Shoki felt his heart quiver. She looked just as he remembered her. But something had changed in that expression—eyes of the Iron Sultan staring back at him from the young, pretty face.

  She rose, throwing the dagger to her side in disgust. “Very well. Camsh. Clean him up.” Then her gaze fell on Jiza. She narrowed her eyes. “And give her something decent to wear.”

  Shoki exhaled when Camsh finally grew quiet. “All this happened in the month I was away? Far more than I’d expected.”

  “One might wonder how truthful you are,” said the inquisitor, his face a maze of shadows under the flickering light of the fire, his eyes traveling to Jiza sitting quietly to his left side. “And how many things are you not really telling us.”

  “As I said,” Shoki repeated, keeping care not to look at either Nuraya or Jiza, “I was kept in a darkened dungeon all this while. I do not know who they were. Perhaps, the Reratish, accompanied by some traitorous mercenaries from the north.”

  “Ah,” said Camsh. “Eventually, we’ll find out who they were!”

  “Aye,” agreed Shoki.

  Silence fell on their little group sitting a good two hundred yards away from the main host. Grimacing, wondering if the pain in his chest meant Nuraya had cracked a rib or two, he looked around the fire.

  Nuraya sat directly opposite him, her figure both obscured and outlined by the raging fire between them. Jinan sat to her left, muttering to himself. Never once had the man said anything to him since they’d given Shoki and Jiza horses, then a berth at their fire. To her other side, sat Camsh, the man who was a son of the grand vizier’s—a man who had given Shoki’s life a new meaning and purpose. To Shoki’s left, sat the inquisitor, and opposite him, to Shoki’s right, sat Maharis.

  Beside him, Jiza adjusted her weight. Shoki grimaced, hoped no one noticed her unnatural, unmoving shadow.

  “Shoki,” said Nuraya, her voice low, deliberate.

  He looked up in surprise. Hours had passed since their altercation and this was the first time she had addressed him since. “You say you had your reasons for what you did,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically cold, devoid of emotion. “Camsh has managed to convince me that this is an opportune time for delaying justice.”

  Shoki nodded numbly.

  “Sahib Shoki Malook,” said Camsh. From the corner of his eye, Shoki noticed Nuraya flinch. Why was that? “Even in the most adverse conditions, one cannot house two swords in the same scabbard. Don’t you agree?”

  Shoki nodded. “Of course.” Again, he waited.

  Camsh exchanged a glance with Nuraya, coughed, then cleared his throat noisily.

  “Oh, for Rabb’s sake,” growled the inquisitor. He leaned forward, his fingers interlaced. “Both you and the girl cannot be co-claimants to the Peacock Throne and march together. One of you has to step away for the other.”

  “He has to,” snarled Jinan, finally looking up toward the inquisitor. “I didn't lose Mona at the city for nothing.”

  The inquisitor harrumphed, his dark eyes never leaving Shoki’s face.

  “I’ve sent messengers to Ahasan,” said Nuraya, her steel strained, her gaze turned toward him. “Despite all that happened between us, he’s still family, and I expect him to join forces with me to defend this sacred land. But if he knows you’re back, he’ll have an excuse to play us against each other.”

  Shoki looked down at the flames. Nuraya had changed more than he’d thought initially. Gone was the impetuous young girl who was ruled by whim and would have taken his life when she had the chance. Instead, he now dealt with someone with a much keener appreciation for tactics and strategy.

  “If that’s the case,” he said, meeting her gaze, “why even keep me around? Why not just kill me when you had the chance?”

  Camsh cleared his throat. “Regardless of the legality or otherwise of your claim, there are many within the realm who ended up calling for you. In the current state, with magi squaring off against the inquisitors, provinces in rebellion, invaders swarming through Istan, your name as a magus has gained further currency and—”

  “And when they all realize I’m back, all these different parties, they will try to use me to further their agenda, won’t they?” observed Shoki. He raised a hand, suddenly feeling tired. This was his world, yes. But were these really his burdens to bear? Just because the mule ended up pulling its load for a bi
t when the master fell asleep didn't make it any worthier to take over its master’s status. Especially not after the master woke off her slumber.

  “I never even wanted to be a salar,” Shoki continued, pausing for a moment to see if his gut would tell him to shut up. It kept quiet. He nodded, then looked up at Nuraya across from him. “I have no claim over the Peacock Throne. Never really did. Never will. The only reason I took it upon myself was to safeguard the Divide. A task that still needs doing. If you, Nuraya Istan, promise that you will re-institute the Kalb Inquisition over magi like me and will do everything in your power to ensure the Divide remains strong between the worlds, I will be happy to fight as a soldier in your vanguard.”

  Nuraya glared at him. Maharis shuffled uncomfortably. Jiza watched him closely. “The world has changed much since the last time we met. Neither the inquisitors nor the magi are prepared to listen to anyone.”

  “Together, then, we will make them see reason.”

  Her beautiful eyes narrowed, Nuraya glared at him for one long beat, then nodded. “Remember this. My priority remains to push back the Reratish and Zakhanan. That is what matters the most.”

  Still seated, Shoki bowed his head, feeling a great weight lift off his shoulders, even if the terror remained for a future that continued to make him restless.

  Chapter 19

  Nuraya

  Nuraya paced within her tent, increasingly restless. Two days had passed since she’d gotten Shoki to relinquish claims on her throne—a momentous victory—yet it still failed to soar her spirits.

  Why was that?

  She’d won, had reduced a claimant without shedding a single drop of blood. Why did it not feel like a victory then?

  She did know the reason though, even if she didn't like dwelling over it.

  If she was right about Shoki’s heritage, then could it be that his claim to the throne was stronger than hers? Shaking her head, she tried recalling all she knew about the man who she’d first met as a city guard, someone who had started worming his way into her heart. The first person she had ever kissed. He had been raised by adoptive parents, hadn’t realized that until they had died. An arrangement that quite possibly agents of the old Malik line had setup.