War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

Shoki turned around, grimacing with the effort.

  “That doesn't surprise me,” replied another. “You’ve been good at absolutely nothing, you piece of camel dung.”

  “Keep insulting me and you’re gonna get burned skin instead,” said Liaman.

  Deraman laughed a mirthless laugh. “There’s nothing left on the fish anyway. Get off! I gotta do this too.”

  Shoki smiled. The two men had survived. Then, he remembered the message he’d asked them to pass on to the group of magi heading west. Gritting his teeth, he rose unsteadily, then began shambling toward the two men.

  Chapter 27

  Nuraya

  “I’m going to gut him,” said Nuraya, her eyes narrowed as she stepped out of the boat onto the shore. “No one talks to the sultana like that. Not even an inquisitor of the Kalb.”

  Camsh nodded, hurrying to keep up with her. “Very true, my sultana. However, it would be remiss of me to not point out that it was this man whose contacts with the local nizam have resulted in us getting out of the island in the first place. I would caution restraint, for now anyway.”

  Nuraya harrumphed, keeping her chin high as she started walking toward a small delegation accompanied by horses waiting for them a hundred yards away. Camsh did have a point. No island would have constrained her for long. However, having been reduced to a mere dozen or so men after the magi attack, had it not been for the inquisitor advising her that he had procured local support and provisions, she’d have achieved little more on the mainland had she waded out on her own.

  They had been attacked by djinn. Djinn. Nuraya shivered, still at a loss of how to deal with that. It had been her war against the Reratish and the Zakhanan. How in the seven hells had the beings of myth gotten involved in all this? What was going on?

  An old, wizened man limped forward. “My sultana!” He bowed, one hand holding his turban up, the other flaring out in an elaborate flourish he might have thought fashionable in the capital.

  “Are you the local nizam?” asked Camsh, stepping forward and motioning the man to rise.

  “Indeed,” he wheezed, righting himself. “I’m Yertan Gailzin, the nizam of this humble region as appointed by the honorable ameer of Yamuan.”

  Nuraya nodded at the old nizam, then cast her eyes about. Provisions, the inquisitor had promised, and it seemed he hadn’t lied. A hundred or so well-rested and saddled horses. A dozen mules laden with rucksacks.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed the inquisitor approaching them. Instead of standing beside her, he stepped half a dozen paces behind her, arms crossed on his chest. The nizam turned toward the inquisitor, offered him a bow almost as deep as the one he’d given her.

  The nizam coughed as he straightened his back. “My sultana, it’s a great honor to see you with my own eyes. We… we are poor folks out here, not worthy of receiving persons of your statute. Nor do we have anything grand to offer you as a sign of our tribute. Nothing but our horses, considered the best-trained in the northern realm. A source of pride not just for our people, but for the whole of Istan!” He bowed his head once more then, straightening, waved at the horses. “I hope you’ll accept this little gift from the people of Yamuan. I only wish we had men to spare as well, but with the situation as it is, most of the able-bodied men have already been pressed into military duty.”

  Nuraya nodded, finding her heart, warming at the nizam’s gesture. The inquisitor might have arranged this meeting, gotten the word out, but what this man was doing was entirely out of his own heart. Finally, someone who recognized the great sacrifices her family had made on behalf of them all for so long. “Sahib Nizam, what will your ameer say once he realizes you’ve given us these horses? Might he not have need for these to secure his own borders?”

  The nizam’s eyes hardened. Thumping his weak chest, he stood up tall—as much as his weak back would allow, his eyes dark despite the bright sunlight. “Istan is facing terrible times. Doesn't matter where her sons stand and fight, or under whose banner, so long as they all battle against the accursed foreign bastards with all we’ve got!” He punched his right palm with the left hand pulled into a fist. “Kill them all, daughter of the great sultan. Maim them. Send them back in pieces so their mothers wail, their wives curse their leaders, and their sons think twice before venturing through these lands ever again!”

  Nuraya blinked, taken aback by the ferocity in the man’s words. He was old, an ordinary nizam in a region that Nuraya had never heard of, would never hear from again, yet the words could have come from Hanim himself. A patriot’s words, pure, and brazen.

  “I…” She shook her head, tried again. “Istan thanks you for your service and—”

  Spying someone moving behind her, the nizam bowed again. This time, so deep, his back almost gave out.

  Biting her lower lip, Nuraya turned her head around. Shoki was being helped out of the boat by two of her soldiers. He looked frail, his eye still carrying the vacant expression that had somehow become a permanent fixture of late. He hadn't looked their way yet, but already more members of the nizam’s retinue were bowing toward him.

  The nizam’s words rang out in Nuraya’s mind: Doesn’t matter whose banner the sons of Istan fight under!

  After all that Shoki had done to harm the integrity of the Istani realm—for had he not forced her to leave the capital, she would have held it against the Zakhanan forces—these common people still hailed him as her equal. Why couldn't they use their eyes and minds to see how preposterous the very idea was?

  They couldn't stay together. The realization startled her. Then again, there was no doubt in that. Keeping him around only made her cause that much more difficult. Another thought washed over her. Had the djinn attacked her, or him?

  “My sultana,” whispered Camsh. “News must not have traveled yet that he has already abdicated his claim in your favor.”

  Nuraya didn't bother to respond. What did it matter whether the news had traveled? Did the sun’s presence need to be announced? Did the lioness need to roar before the prey would turn to her in respect and fear? Shoki was a city guard, one who had somehow become an abominable magus. In what world did a man like him ever start eclipsing her, daughter of the great Sultan Anahan, one groomed from birth to the position that had been rightfully hers before he had snatched it from her?

  Jealousy twisted her innards, making it hard to breathe.

  Could the peasants really not see what was so wrong with how they treated Shoki?

  Did her sacrifices, and all that she had lost, mean nothing in the grand scheme of things?

  “My sultana,” wheezed the nizam, turning to face her. “We’ve heard news of some of your men traveling north. We don’t know how they came apart from your main forces, or indeed what happened to your army for that matter, but if you were to travel north, you’ll find them.” He coughed. “Though, if they are deserters, I would recommend caution as they are armed.”

  “Very well,” said Nuraya, giving her head a slight shake, her back turned to Shoki. “Any other news that you might wish to share with us?”

  A shadow crossed over the nizam’s face. “Don’t know if this has reached you or not yet, but an imperial messenger we received yesterday came bearing grim news.” He swallowed. “The Zakhanan bastards have defeated the grand vizier. They… now control Algaria. The messenger reported seeing the Zakhanan flags flying atop the Shahi Qilla.”

  Nuraya stared at the old man, feeling a heavy dread settle into the pit of her stomach. Surely the old man had heard wrong. Perhaps the messenger had been a spy instead, sent to foment unrest? There was no way Algaria, her Algaria, the seat of her family, home to Abba’s bones, could ever fall into the hands of a foreign army. Istan was a glorious, strong body. Sure, its limbs weren't immune to minor diseases and wounds, but nothing ever affected Algaria, its heart. The grand city had stood unmolested for centuries, made impervious by the gods themselves.

  “I went there a long time ago,” the old nizam was saying. “A glor
ious place, I thought. Impossible to render in words, I told everyone once I returned. Four decades and yet I still remember the first time my eyes beheld the Grand Temple under the majestic Shahi Qilla’s shade!”

  Nuraya hung back, her mind struggling to process the loss of Algaria. Easy enough to blame everyone else—a tactic that Ahasan had mastered, one she would have been happy to use not too long ago. Things had changed though. She’d become wiser, and it had become that much more difficult to turn away from the truth of it all.

  “My sultana?” asked Camsh, taking an uncertain step toward her.

  “I… did that,” she croaked, feeling strength draining from her body. “My actions… The walls I brought down… That’s what allowed the Zakhanan forces to occupy my city!”

  “That war for Istan,” said Camsh, motioning the nizam to keep away, “wouldn't be won quickly. We have to be prepared for—”

  “My fault,” she repeated, feeling her eyes growing misty. “Had I not unleashed the magi… Had I been more circumspect, it could have all turned out differently!”

  Camsh clasped his hands behind his back. “My sultana, there is a silver lining even in this dark cloud. Assuming the news is correct, then Ahasan would hear this as well, and realize that the only region that has still escaped the war so far is the north.” He hesitated, his voice quivering. “Before long, both the Zakhanan and the Reratish Kingdom forces will be crawling through the northern realm, leaving no place to hide from them. Perhaps that’s why Prince Sabrish wanted to take over Qwasad, no matter the cost.”

  Nuraya blinked, not caring for who might see the lone tear crawling down her cheek. Then, her mind registered the strained expression in Camsh’s voice. “Camsh, the grand vizier, your father was leading the forces in Algaria. Do you fear for him?”

  Camsh chuckled. A false bravado she could see right through. “If anyone knows how to live through tumultuous times, it’s him.”

  Gritting her teeth, Nuraya clenched her fingers. Unbelievably, she stood at yet another crossroads. Her instincts shouted at her to march for Algaria. If one small town had turned over all it had to help her cause, hearing what had happened to Algaria would encourage more to join her.

  Or, she could continue north, hoping to join forces with her brother, and then mount a united challenge.

  A challenge against what though? The djinn? Magi? The inquisitors? Some other beings of myth she hadn't even heard about? Did Camsh and her men know what she had learned from Shoki the other night?

  Voices talked around her, the horses snorting as her men started inspecting them. Camsh and the nizam watched her silently, the inquisitor a brooding figure in the periphery of her vision.

  She had marched to Algaria’s defense not too long ago. Ironic that the man she had tried liberating it from before was the one she was seeking to form a compact with now to defend it. The game of politics where alliances shifted faster than the moving sands.

  Forcing her heartbeat to remain steady, she refused to let emotions guide her course of action. But it was impossible to do so after hearing the Zakhanan, of all people, had occupied Algaria. The Zakhanan empire! She shook her head in disbelief. Sure, they might have been the birthplace of the Gharsi language and the Husalmin faith all those thousands of years ago, but since then, what had they contributed to the world?

  Nothing.

  Yet a people whose biggest claim to fame in the recent centuries had been their good fortune in sharing a border with the mighty and enlightened Istani Sultanate now sat in the Shahi Qilla.

  Her thoughts were chaotic, incoherent. That much, she recognized. Then again, she didn't really have the luxury of time to think things through to the extent she would have preferred. Again, the realization that the world didn't revolve around either her or her brother stung—a marker of how low their stock had fallen in recent times.

  One way or the other, all these battles were edging toward a final confrontation. One that she could see would be ultimately fought in the north. This was the theater she needed to stay in. And to be victorious, she needed allies. All sorts. All kinds. No matter the concessions they invoked.

  A figure limped toward her. Forcing steel in her spine, she turned toward the inquisitor. “So, you’ve heard about Algaria as well?” she demanded, thankful her voice didn't quiver as much as she had feared.

  “I have,” he replied, patting his thick mustache. The inquisitor had somehow procured a gray turban, once more completing his look. “And I believe the time has come for us to consider a change of tactics. We need to march north-east at full haste. Despite all their assurances, the magi deceived us, tried to destroy us at the campsite, and failing that, have started marching toward the inquisition castles.”

  Nuraya arched an eyebrow. “The magi?”

  “Djinn or human, magi are abominations!”

  “Inquisitor, what do you know?”

  Inquisitor Aboor stared at her for a long moment, enough for her mind to take her back to the time where she, as a young girl, had had to stand up to Hanim’s scrutiny. “I’ve heard from my scouts as well. The magi heading west? A diversion. The rest of them are heading for the inquisition castle of Jalna. We have to rush there and smash their siege! And then… they will pay for their betrayal!”

  “With all due respect,” said Camsh, “why in seven hells would we turn for your castle, when we should be heading north toward Ahasan’s stronghold and encouraging him to ally with us?”

  “Because,” came another voice behind her, one a part of her had almost been expecting and dreading, “we cannot ignore the magi. In all that’s about to unfold, they have a hand to play. A hand we know nothing about so far.”

  Nuraya turned around to face Shoki. The magus blinked, the skin around the ghastly eye patch twitching. He still wore the long tunic that sat awkwardly on his frame, his long hair fluttering behind him in an unruly mess. She frowned. “So, you too would have us listen to the man who bothers not a whit about the realm, but only his obsessive war against the magi?”

  “That’s not true,” growled the inquisitor.

  Shoki held up a hand. “I don’t think—”

  “No one asked what you think,” she snapped at him. “I am the rightful ruler of this realm. Something you’ve accepted as well. For now, we march north at full speed until we’ve linked up with the stragglers. Then, I shall decide on our next course of action.”

  The inquisitor cleared his throat. “Magi are snakes. Vile, dishonorable creatures unbound by mortal human concerns. Look at the way they attacked you, even when you had done them no harm! And that’s despite the promises of your mother’s pet magus!”

  Nuraya pursed her lips.

  “Where is Maharis now, eh? First one to leave, he was. The action of a traitor who knew what was coming!” The inquisitor took a step forward, his voice dropping. “You were attacked by the djinn! The djinn! In what world can you ignore that, and these magi conspiring against us all, and think your fight is with your brother or other mortal men when the real enemy is these abominations?”

  “Aye,” said Shoki. “The Reratish and the Zakhanan aren’t the only enemies.”

  Her head spun with all these confounding thoughts. What was she meant to do? How did anyone in her position make sense of all this? Her goals had always been straightforward—wrest Algaria free from Ahasan, defeat the Reratish by hollowing them from the inside, muster forces to defeat the invading armies. Now, what was she meant to do? Had all she’d been planning for, a mere waste of time?

  She wasn't one to sit back passively. But one couldn't really just wave their fist at the air in anger if it picked up of its own volition.

  Nuraya exchanged a glance with Camsh whose face had gone pale. What did he and others make of djinn getting involved in their affairs?

  “Nuraya,” said Shoki softly, taking a step forward. “What are you thinking?”

  I’m afraid. The answer surprised her. But it wasn't something she could admit. Damned Istani pride. She g
lared at him and he faltered. Nuraya cleared her throat, stood straight. “We march north.”

  Chapter 28

  Shoki

  “If you’ve learned anything,” said Inquisitor Aboor, waving a nonchalant hand at him, “it’s the art of not falling off the horse when riding.”

  Forcing himself upright in the saddle that continued to slide underneath him, Shoki forced a grin he didn't feel. “It appears so.”

  “Hmm,” said the inquisitor, turning his eyes forward.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Shoki pulled himself closer to the pommel, cursing himself for not taking care of what horse got assigned to him. These northern horses were no docile mares—those, he could probably ride as well as the inquisitor might have suspected—instead, these northern horses were bred for war. Tall. Stout. Heavy. And stubborn. Had it not been for the inquisitor beside him, and a dozen riders in front, Shoki was certain he wouldn't have gotten the horse to break even into a trot.

  Then again, the inquisitor was right. He hadn't fallen off yet. A minor victory!

  They rode on silently for another mile or so. Shoki, for once, didn't feel compelled to shatter the silence that had always been a bothersome thing for him. Instead, he watched Nuraya Istan riding determinedly ahead of him. True to her name, she rode like a sultana. Tall and assured in the saddle, the horse bending to her whim. Occasionally, Camsh would say something and she would respond, neither’s voice carrying over to him. Then again, that made no difference to him either. He had little to contribute, nothing to gain by eavesdropping.

  He had tried reaching out to Nuraya via Camsh, asking him to arrange a meeting with her regarding the djinn. He had never heard back. Either he had lost her trust, or as he had suspected, she wanted nothing to do with matters other than the invasion.

  “Are you hungry, Sahib?” shouted Deraman, pulling his horse beside him. “Before you ask, no, it’s nothing that Liaman cooked, I assure you. Salted fish, courtesy of the nizam.”