War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  “You did what you could,” said Jiza. “If she isn't going to listen, that’s her blasted problem.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said. “She’s been through some really hard times.”

  “None of my concern,” Jiza said. “You spoke with her yesterday despite my objections. Where did that get you? Nowhere.” She cocked her head to the side, thrusting her chest forward in the manner she had to know set his heart racing. “You need to get away from here. Nainwa awaits. Azar is still missing and I’m sure Namam wouldn't object to your return.”

  Shoki frowned. “How would you know he’s still missing?” He raised a hand. “Actually, I don't think I really want to get into it.”

  “Drenpa has not been caught yet,” she said, her voice cold. “The longer you waste your time here, the more my people will continue to suffer.”

  “And these people aren't suffering?” Shoki shouted, unable to keep the frustration contained anymore. “I, too, am stuck in a rut here, if you can’t see. I… sympathize with the plight of your world. I do, really, but my priority is Istan.”

  “We are mirror images,” she warned. “The rot spreads indiscriminately.”

  “Enough,” he said. “I… am just one man!”

  Jiza grew quiet, her eyes shooting daggers. Shoki ignored the hint of hurt within them. She’d helped argue his case in front of Namam. Had never done him any harm. Had… shared herself with him. And wanted something in return. Something that was beyond his power though, a point that she still couldn't see.

  Mara was still missing. Why? Shoki forced a chuckle. He’d barely known the djinn before he’d whisked him away from this world. But there was no denying he did owe a debt to the djinn. He had walked over to the djinn and asked him for his help in defending Nuraya. The djinn had kept up his side of the bargain.

  And now they expected the same of him.

  Shoki would pay back his debt. But couldn’t they see he had no way?

  Pursing his lips, Shoki began pacing once more. They had been given two tents in the row of tents closest to the stream that ran along their campsite. Though they were technically within the section set aside for the soldiers, ten tents to either direction had been kept empty. Whether that was a consideration for privacy considering Jiza was the only female apart from Nuraya, or out of deference after what he’d done at Algaria, he didn't really know. With soldiers keeping away from him even during the day, there was no way of knowing for sure.

  His mind went over events of last night.

  After his uneventful chat with Nuraya, he’d had another row with Jiza. He had first tried hinting to her that the inquisitor was watching them, and she ought to quieten down. Then he’d stomped away, only to have her follow him all the way to the stream, berating him for the weakness he showed to Nuraya.

  If he hadn't known any better, he might have suspected Jiza was envious of the manner in which he regarded Nuraya. Of course, that wasn't possible. She was a djinn, even if she had somehow taken human form to be with him. And being who she was, Jiza was incapable of realizing the complex feelings of shame and regret and love and lust that unspooled in his heart whenever he set his eyes on Nuraya.

  Having Jiza beside him, the woman he’d lost his virginity to, in front of the woman he’d wanted from the first, wouldn't make any man’s thoughts coherent.

  Someone had knocked at his tent afterward late at night. Afraid it might be Jiza, prepared to use any means necessary to convince him to look at things her way, he’d been bracing himself against her charms as he’d lifted the tent flap.

  “Magus,” Maharis had said.

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t let the inquisitor turn you against your kind.”

  “Maharis, there is nothing—” he had tried arguing back.

  “We didn't set off on the right footing,” the Jaman magus had said, his outline silvery under the soft moonlight. “Something I regret terribly. Leave with me. Help our kind break free of the evil chains these inquisitors have bound us in for centuries.”

  “I’m not sure I disagree with some of the inquisitors’ concerns.”

  “Nor do I,” Maharis had said. “Not after what I saw the queen do. Yes, we will have to find common ground. Not an easy task. But we’ll need someone like you to rally around. I promised the sultana I would press for peace, and that’s something I want to try!”

  Shoki had stood frozen for long breaths, aware that his time for standing motionless was fast coming to an end. He had turned away, letting the canvas flap fall down.

  All night, he’d tossed and turned, only to face an irate Jiza in the morning.

  “Shoki,” said Jiza once more, her tone softer, more conciliatory. “We cannot stay here.”

  Shoki nodded. That much, at least, he agreed with her on. Then again, what could he do? Jiza had failed to resurrect his well. He had no armies, no men to call upon, none especially after he’d renounced his audacious claim to the throne. They hadn't heard back from either Ahasan or the two messengers Nuraya had sent west.

  All he knew, he did from the mouths of those who had agendas of their own. Hardly a position one could spring from in any meaningful manner.

  Was there no one he could trust?

  Maybe, the time had come for him to have an honest chat with Nuraya and tell her all he knew. If rumors about magi attempting blood magic were true; if there was a chance that the war in Nainwa could spill into their world; if the pari folk weren't finished with them, two heads would be better than one.

  She didn't trust him though. This much, he could tell. Every time their paths had crossed, she had ignored him. Whatever spark had existed between the two of them, it was well and truly gone.

  If I tell her what I know, she’d hate me even more for not telling her before.

  Evidence. Yes, that was what he needed before approaching her.

  Grimacing, and ignoring the puppy looks Jiza continued to shoot his way, Shoki turned toward the cook pots set some fifty yards from their location. Men in tattered clothes manned simmering pots, laughing easily as soldiers with a lot of time to kill tended to do.

  He stood still for a while, brooding, thoughtful. His gaze fell at two figures standing beside a cook pot, and he squinted. A plump, bald man alongside a fat mercenary with a bushy mustache.

  Men he knew well.

  Grinning, Shoki advanced toward the cook pot.

  “Shoki!” Jiza called behind him, but he ignored her.

  Noticing his approach, the other men around the pots grew quiet, standing to attention. Two closest to him exchanged a glance then, stepping back, bowed. Bowed! Shoki shook his head, half-amused, half-unsure on what he was meant to do here.

  The bald man looked up at him first. “Gods’ guts!”

  “What, Liaman?” asked his companion.

  “Look over, you fool.”

  Deraman turned his head, then his eyes widened. “Oh, Rabb!”

  Shoki beamed at them. “Fancy seeing you two here.”

  “We… we did no wrong,” said Liaman, raising his hands. “Did we, Deraman?”

  “No, we didn't.” He paused. “Not recently anyway.”

  Liaman clicked his tongue, leaned in toward his companion. “Are we… erm… meant to bow or do something?”

  “Nothing,” said Shoki. “I’m a common man just like you.”

  “Err…” said Deraman, rubbing his hands, casting a furtive glance over to his companion. “As you say.”

  Shoki pursed his lips. Strange how in his mind nothing had changed much since the time he had set out from Algaria all that time ago. But for others, he had turned into some sort of a half-mythical figure. A man who’d almost been sultan. A magus who had brought down the city walls.

  He wrinkled his nose. The last time he’d seen them, they had been leading the advance on Algaria’s city walls, shielding him from the enemy archers.

  “What can we do for you?” asked Deraman. “Your… erm…”

  “Call me Shoki,” h
e said. “I could do with someone who recognizes me for what I used to be.”

  “Very well… Shoki,” said Liaman. Liaman leaned in and slapped him on the head. “Ow!”

  “You buffoon, just because the nobles say something doesn't mean they actually mean it!”

  “Oh!” said Liaman, rubbing his pate.

  “I am no nobleman,” said Shoki, narrowing his eyes. Then, he realized he was wearing the patch on his other eye. One more marker of how kismet had changed their fates.

  “We’ve come all the way from Algaria to fight for the sultana once more,” said Deraman. “That’s… something you approve of, eh?”

  Shoki nodded.

  “Good,” said Deraman, nodding vehemently. “We had offers. Good offers. Plenty of mercenary companies out west looking for good, seasoned men like us. Wars are terrible business for the common folk. But also, great times for mercenaries. After all, who knows how long these battles will continue between the various—”

  “You have friends over in the west?” Shoki said, interrupting the mercenary’s flow.

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d really call them friends. More… erm… acquaintances.”

  Shoki gritted his teeth. He had no way of knowing what was going on outside this damned camp using independent resources. Could this be the opportunity he had been looking for? “Deraman, Liaman, do you think I could ask you a favor? For old times’ sake?”

  “Anything!” said Liaman immediately.

  “Certainly,” replied Deraman after a moment’s hesitation, casting an evil eye at his mate.

  “Good,” said Shoki, making a snap decision. “I’ve a message for a certain group of men and women heading west. A group easy enough to identify. A message for them to consider my offer to mediate a truce between them and the group they are trying to break from.”

  Chapter 23

  Nuraya

  “You called for me?” said Maharis as he entered her tent.

  Nuraya glared at him for a long breath. The magus who would normally have looked away met her stare coolly. Just as feeble-looking as he normally did, no doubt still conserving energy for later, he seemed to have iron in his spine today.

  Instead of replying to him immediately, Nuraya turned to Camsh, standing beside her. “Are the magi still moving west?”

  “Aye, my sultana.”

  “Hmm,” she said, crossing arms over her chest, allowing Maharis more time to stew.

  The magus shifted his weight, fidgeted with his robes, one hand rising to right the black turban. A turban that had grown in volume, she realized. She considered what she was going to say. True, she couldn’t afford to let herself be distracted by anything that didn't help cleanse Istan from invaders, yet something Shoki had said had struck home. She had been caught unawares the last time she had marched onto Algaria without realizing what her companions had been planning. She couldn't afford to take the same risk again.

  Nuraya stopped abruptly and turned her full attention to Maharis. “Magus, why are your people moving west?”

  He blinked. “I don't know,” he replied, his voice slow, the words deliberate.

  “Maharis,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I’m not the same girl you met at Algaria. When I ask something, do not dissemble.”

  The magus swallowed, his eyes dropping. Then, he nodded. “Regardless of how it all turned out, I liked and respected your mother. She had a vision and possessed great determination. A strength of character that you just don’t see anymore.” He coughed, thumped his chest as if forcing air into it. “Something that I see in you too.”

  Nuraya stared at the magus. When she had been a young girl, she had wanted to be just like her mother. Not just the desire of a daughter to emulate her mother, but for a princess to turn into the graceful queen that she had been. The truth had been far different in the end. Armed with that knowledge, all desire to identify with her mother had disappeared. She shook her head. “I told you to answer my question! Why were the inquisitors so worried about what your people are doing? Why are they headed west?”

  Maharis raised his chin, suitably chastened. “For the respect I harbored for your mother, I assure you not to worry about the magi movements. They are migrating west, looking for a safe place to take refuge. Like I said, had that been anything else, why would I have stayed beside an inquisitor? It’s nothing more than my people seeking peace. Nothing that impacts your quest.”

  “Nothing that impacts me?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you to make that decision on my behalf?”

  “I promise by all that’s holy, my brethren do not stand in your way to rid the realm of the foreign invaders. Nor do they support anyone else.”

  “Why are they heading west though?” asked Camsh. “Why not the north or north-east where war has not yet arrived?”

  Maharis kept quiet.

  “The east and south are being ravaged by the Zakhanan forces,” said Nuraya, pressing her index finger hard with her thumbnail. “Only Rabb knows if Algaria still stands. West is obviously the staging base for the Reratish. Camsh is right.” She leaned forward, her eyes poring over the map of Istan spread out on the table. “It makes no sense for your people to be heading west. After all, there is nothing—”

  Nuraya broke off, her eyes settling on the smaller castles and fortresses set out in a ring formation in the very heart of the realm.

  The Inquisition castles.

  She looked up sharply, saw color draining from the magus’s face, his eyes watching the same spot on the map. “They are not heading west, for refuge, are they? Is there something they seek? More… infants, more of these… artifacts that your kind lusts after?”

  He didn't reply.

  She straightened her back. “As your magi head west, making no attempt to hide their movements, what are the rest of you planning to do?”

  Silence.

  “Has that got anything to do with the inquisition castles up in the north?”

  Maharis chewed on his lower lip, not looking her way.

  “I’d expected you to not hide anything from me. Not after all that happened, after what you did.” She felt her heartbeat quicken. Something was wrong. Something she wasn't seeing. A shadow moving behind shadows, a deep sense of foreboding gripping her insides. “Didn’t I say that I would judge grievances between your people and the inquisitors? That I will settle all disputes, reforge the bonds that time has frayed?” She paused, her voice growing cold. “Why are you here if you’re going to keep the truth from me? Are you here to spy on me?”

  “No,” said Maharis, shaking his head vigorously. “I would never disrespect the memory of your mother by going against you. I’d rather die before I did that.”

  She smashed the table with her fist, causing a half dozen parchments to fall off. “Then what have you been doing here all this time? I need to focus on what lays ahead. The fight against the Reratish and the Zakhanan. I cannot afford to be distracted.”

  Maharis didn't flinch, his eyes settling on her face. “I made a promise to your mother. A promise to help you. This, I will do, no matter what.”

  Nuraya scoffed. She could feel her blood boiling, the red haze of fury beginning to cloud her vision. Something that led her to make hasty decisions. One thing to avoid.

  “Get out of here, Maharis,” she said. “I’m going to deliberate over your fate.”

  “Do not let the inquisitor misguide you,” said Maharis, not moving. “My loyalties are clear. Whereas he was the one who supported Ahasan over you. The one who imprisoned and then tortured Shoki, your messenger, seeking help on your behalf. All this time, he has done everything to thwart your agenda. Even if he gives the appearance of listening to you, do not forget this...” He cleared his throat. “Altamish Aboor is a snake, driven by one thing alone. Eradication of the magi. Anyone that stands in his way, even the Iron Sultan’s daughter, he will cut down. No overtures of any kind will ever work with him. He’s a fanatic. Do not forget that.”

  Nuraya
glared at the magus. “Oh, and your people haven't deceived me before? When I’d been planning to win the Battle of Algaria, you had been making plans behind my back, waging a hidden war of yours. Why should anyone listen to anything you say now?”

  “Ignore the man but not his words,” said Maharis, finally turning. “Something your mother used to say.”

  “Get out!” she shouted, no longer able to restrain herself. “You know nothing about her. I didn't. No one did! And never mention her again in front of me!”

  Maharis offered a curt bow, then shuffled out of her tent.

  Nuraya growled, fighting to keep her anger in check. She walked up to the table, grabbed its sides, pressing hard with all her might.

  “My sultana,” said Camsh. “I think—”

  “Quiet!” she snarled. She could order Maharis’s limbs torn apart until he admitted everything. A part of her wanted just that, afraid of the unknown, yet loathe to acknowledge what she couldn’t really ignore.

  The curtain flap rose. Nuraya looked up. “Jinan!”

  The siphsalar had a vacant look in his eyes as he surveyed the strewn parchments. “I would have knocked,” he said, raising his hand clutching two scrolls. “But I thought I must bring in these missives immediately.”

  “Who asked you to assume you could enter my tent without permission?” she barked. “Just because you happened to know my dead friend, do not presume that gives you any leeway with me.”

  Jinan blinked, the hard mask slipping for an instant to reveal the wounded young boy within. “I presume nothing, my sultana!”

  She gritted her teeth and motioned Camsh to take the scrolls from Jinan. Camsh was right. She couldn't just keep ignoring the state of her siphsalar. Once they did get into a battle, could she really trust this man to keep her safe?

  “Messages from your brother,” said Camsh, “and the Reratish Kingdom.”

  Nuraya narrowed her eyes. She didn't know what was written, but already a sense of grim anxiety was beginning to grip her. Kismet had turned away from her, afflicting her with one setback after another. It wouldn't be surprising to see more of the same. “Read them then, stripping away all the dissembling, tell me straight what they say.”