War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

“Anything would be better than your wife’s saggy boobs,” declared the other, raising his mug high. “Trust me, I would know. ‘Twas my sucking that got them to droop as much as they did in the first place!”

  More laughter broke out. The man who had been slighted glared for a long moment, then shrugged, raising his own mug to his lips.

  Nuraya stood there for another half a dozen breaths. Though the men had moved on to discuss anatomical traits of women they admired, her mind continued to drift toward the man they had been discussing.

  Shoki.

  Were there others like them who wondered whether the city guard would have made a better sultan than her? How could they even entertain these preposterous thoughts? Had they so quickly forgotten what Abba had sacrificed for them all his life? Had they no understanding of the glorious history of the Istani sultans who had devoted their life toward the betterment of this realm?

  More thoughts washed over her. Ones she had been trying to get rid of.

  Shoki was gone. Banished from her court on her orders. Something she should have done a long time ago. It hadn't been a good idea to keep him around, even after he had stepped away from his claim to her throne.

  She’d done the right thing. Why did her heart ache so much then?

  Nuraya frowned. He held no place in her heart, she tried telling herself. She had never met someone like him in her life, and so when she had, she had naturally gravitated toward him. There was nothing more than the initial fascination upon seeing something for the first time.

  All rational, logical arguments. They didn't help, failing to lighten her chest.

  Giving her head another shake, she turned around and began walking back to her command tent. The voices began to grow faint as they passed into the cordon separating her initial five hundred from the peasants. The soldiers here talked amongst themselves too but spying her and Camsh with their hoods pushed back, they fell quiet.

  She exhaled, more worries settling in her gut. “Camsh… did I do the right thing leaving the inquisitors and the magi to sort out their mess amongst themselves? Should I have done anything more?”

  Camsh didn't respond immediately. A thoughtful man, once more taking his time before leaping ahead. “My sultana, you know our family has always served yours well, and—”

  “Do not mince words,” she snapped. “I asked a simple question.”

  “Very well. Perhaps it would have been wiser to try once more to see whether we could have managed a temporary cessation of hostilities between the inquisitors and the magi, but in all truth, I also fail to see what else we could have done in the circumstance. Had I been able to, it would've been ideal to stop Shoki from forcing our hand. That… that was not ideal.”

  Not ideal! She scoffed. Nothing was ideal. She had tried playing the mediator at Ghulamia. That hadn't turned out well. She’d come all the way to the inquisitor castle the second time and had been betrayed by both parties once more. She had been right in moving on. Whatever end it was that was fast approaching, it left no room for distractions.

  Ahasan’s ambassador rose when she entered the command tent. “Princess!” he said, bowing his head low.

  “Sultana,” corrected Camsh. Nuraya motioned at her siphsalar to not belabor the point and he nodded. She looked around, half expecting to see Ranal strut about in the finery he showed off whenever messengers arrived. Had he once more eaten something he shouldn't have?

  “Your brother looks forward to receiving you at Kohkam,” said the ambassador, a tall, middle-aged man with graying hair. “A great wave of festivity and joy has swept the city upon hearing of your arrival and the priests are arranging special prayers for the occasion.”

  Nuraya laughed, moving over to the pitcher of water set to one side. “Didn't my brother want me to go anywhere but approach him? Hadn't he been most adamant in his last missive that he wanted nothing to do with me?”

  The ambassador cleared his throat. “Circumstances change. Something we all have to account for.”

  “Does he finally see the risks the Reratish and Zakhanan pose to the realm?” she asked, pausing to drink the cool water.

  “Anything that helps the realm would gladden the heart of your brother,” he said, his voice carefully modulated. Nuraya nodded. If nothing else, the man was a consummate diplomat. Ahasan hadn’t fled with just his feral dogs after all.

  “Tell my brother that I can’t wait to see him either,” she said dismissively. “We face far too many risks at present to continue to bicker amongst ourselves.”

  The ambassador didn’t bow and made no attempt to walk away.

  Nuraya exchanged a glance with Camsh, then turned her gaze toward the ambassador. “Was there anything else on your mind?”

  The ambassador shifted his weight. “A group of ten thousand or so lightly armed peasants is making its way for Kohkam.”

  Nuraya arched an eyebrow. “So?”

  “It seems…” Again, the ambassador fidgeted with his tunic, not meeting her eyes. “That certain words ascribed to you have reached them.” He chuckled, feigning a nonchalance that felt just as off as his clean tunic against her grimy peshwaz under the leather vest. “Exaggerations and lies travel faster than the truth. Always been the case. Might be good to rein them back whilst it is possible.”

  “Certain words? Whatever—” She chuckled, realizing what he meant. “So, my brother is afraid that citizens of Kohkam might hear my message of emancipation, allowing them to break their chains and rise to defend their lands?”

  The ambassador laughed uncomfortably. “Nothing quite like that, I assure you. He is simply beside himself at the idea of greeting his family once more.”

  Nuraya exchanged another glance with Camsh, then shrugged. “No matter what he says, even he sees now that the tide is shifting, and his boats will no longer remain unaffected. That is good. Just what we needed. Assure him that very soon I shall be outside his gates.”

  “We can’t wait,” said the ambassador, offering another bow. He straightened, began moving toward the exit.

  “And oh, Ambassador,” called out Nuraya. “Do instruct my brother that when my followers, these peasants, do arrive outside his gates, I expect him to offer the same dignity I’d expect for the rest of my army.”

  The ambassador bowed a final time, then scurried out without comment. He may have been a diplomat, well-versed in the art of duplicity, but she hadn't missed the way his brows had been furrowed throughout their interaction. He was a northerner, someone who had felt inoculated against the troubling currents elsewhere in the realm, and had finally been forced to acknowledge his life too had been changed irrevocably by the invaders.

  There was more she had picked up on.

  The ambassador was scared, an emotion Nuraya had come to recognize well over time. No, not just scared, she mused.

  Terrified.

  This man didn’t know what the future looked like and wasn’t sure of how the dust would settle. Did he now fear he had called for the wrong Istani royal?

  Camsh moved over to the table, his eyes examining the large map laid out, no doubt reconciling scout reports with their route for tomorrow.

  Nuraya exhaled, feeling an unexpected sympathy for the ambassador and his ilk. They were all a singular body, and the rash afflicting one limb had spread. Like all rashes, it had to blister, burst, and weep with pus, before it would grow faint.

  Things had to get worse before they would get better.

  Yes, she had done the right thing in reaching out to Ahasan. She had done the right thing in focusing on what she could do.

  Yet a part of her wondered whether she, too, like the ambassador wasn’t seeing the full picture.

  One challenge Nuraya hadn’t recognized before the commoners had started joining her banner was how they would impact her speed. Most of her five hundred still had horses, followed by a trail of fast-moving mules that the brave nizam had provided them, but the thousands of men and women that had flocked under her banner moved on foot,
and excruciatingly slowly at that.

  Sighing, Nuraya turned in her saddle to look back. Her forces stretched back for miles in the huge valley, the distance between her and the last stragglers far too great for comfort. Something Camsh disliked even more than her, something neither of them could do much about. No matter how much their salars shouted at the peasants to pick up their pace, the old and the weary could only move so fast.

  An army was only as fast as its slowest soldier. And so, she, too, moved at the pace of the stragglers who formed the bulk of her strength.

  Exhaling, fighting the growing impatience, she turned north again, exposing her left cheek to the morning sun. Another four or so days until they’d be outside Kohkam’s walls. A journey that shouldn’t have taken more than a day of hard march across the valley.

  She had to get mounts, Nuraya decided, when they got to Kohkam. Then, she had to work on weakening the divisions between the veterans and the commoners. If she were to prevail against the Reratish and Zakhanan veterans, she had to ensure her men trusted each other with their lives, regardless of where they had come from initially.

  More suggestions that her newly minted siphsalar had made. Things Jinan should have mentioned but hadn’t.

  Surreptitiously, she turned her head right. Jinan rode silently on his magnificent warhorse, his eyes downcast at the path directly ahead. Most of the journey, he had been muttering to himself. What was going on in his mind? Not once had he marched up to her and protested his demotion—something she had been bracing for. Did he even understand what had happened?

  Feeling the wave of guilt washing over her for what she had done, Nuraya looked away. A sultana had to do what was right for the greatest number of people, even if that meant sometimes punishing those who were victims themselves.

  At a whim, she turned in the saddle toward the east. There, somewhere far off, was the castle of Jalna, the inquisitor castle under siege by the magi. She shivered. How in seven hells had she ever entertained the idea of becoming a magus herself? A troubling thought rose. Had she succeeded in wielding jadu as she had claimed to Mara, would she have been able to turn her back to the magi and inquisitors? Would the sultana have given way to the magus?

  Nuraya looked up at the clear skies. Thank you, Rabb, for keeping me on the right path. I had been wrong in seeking the way of the magi.

  As she turned her gaze to the distant mountains ahead, her eyes fell on a half dozen figures rushing toward them. Her body tensed, but then she saw the roaring lion the lead rider flew by his side. Her scouts.

  She straightened her back, tucking her errant locks behind her ears, smoothing out the wrinkles on her dirty peshwaz.

  The scouts rode directly toward her and Camsh. Nuraya pulled on her reins, her horse snorting, his tail swatting flies. Camsh stopped as well.

  “What news do you bring?” asked her siphsalar when the scouts pulled up in front of them.

  “A mercenary salar commanding some three thousand heavily armored riders is three miles to the east,” said one of the scouts, bowing and speaking at the same time. “He wishes to see you, my sultana!”

  Nuraya blinked. “A mercenary salar? What’s his name? Maybe Jinan would know of him.”

  “He calls himself Salar Ihagra,” reported the scout, pausing as if expecting a reaction from her. “He says he served your father in the diwan-e-aam.”

  “Salar Ihagra,” Nuraya repeated, cocking her head to the side. “A hundred salars would be stationed at the diwan-e-aam any given day of the week. How am I to recognize one of them?”

  “I know of him,” said Camsh slowly. “Ex-soldier. A competent man who joined the city guard after he finished up with the army.”

  “A similar background to Inquisitor Aboor then, one who’s already betrayed me.”

  “He… might be a different man, my sultana.”

  “Do you think he will obey me if I were to order him to join me?”

  Camsh hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  Nuraya considered her options. She didn't know the man, but if he had served Abba in the army, then become part of the city guard, it did indicate a certain inclination in his heart to listen to authority. Unlike the inquisitor who had answered to no one, a city guard salar remained a cog in the wheel. She had to see what the salar wanted from her. If there was any chance to grow her army with a half-decent cavalry, she had to take the chance.

  As if reading her thoughts, Camsh nodded. “Three thousand riders would make a nice addition to our offensive capabilities.”

  She nodded, then turned to the scout. “Tell him if he did serve my father loyally, his daughter orders him to report to me.”

  “I—” the scout began.

  “There.” She pointed at a distant hill. “Tell him to meet me there without delay. And warn him to think twice before playing any tricks.”

  “Aye, my sultana.”

  Nuraya watched the scouts turn around and gallop away, both anxiety and hope spreading in her heart. There was every chance that if this man had turned a mercenary, he might have taken the employ of one of many of her enemies. Yet there was a chance, no matter how slim, that he could join his forces with hers. Thirteen thousand soldiers, containing three thousand cavalry, would give her a distinct advantage when she did arrive at Kohkam.

  “I’ll arrange a protective circle of soldiers around the hill,” said Camsh. “In case he has evil intentions.”

  Nuraya nodded, then turned her horse toward the hill, her body tense at the unexpected news.

  More than two hours passed after they’d arrived at the hill before a cry went up. Nuraya waited, fighting the temptation to see for herself whether it was one man with a retinue traveling toward her or a whole mercenary force intent on capturing her.

  Camsh ran toward the scout, grabbing the eyeglass for himself. Then he turned, his face beaming. “Just one rider!”

  One rider? She nodded, feeling her muscles relax.

  Shouts rang out as the rider finally came into view. Nuraya remained on her horse. Shorn of royal trappings, the least she could do was meet him on equal footing.

  Salar Ihagra, a stern-looking man decked in iron mail and a brass helmet, rode up the hill, sitting gracefully on a dark horse. Jinan blocked his way, ordering him to dismount. The salar glared at Jinan, shaking his head. Camsh glanced at Nuraya and she nodded. If the man had indeed been a salar in Istan’s army, then it made sense why he didn’t seem willing to obey mercenaries like Jinan he’d have fought.

  “Let him through,” shouted Camsh.

  The mercenary salar trotted past Jinan and pulled on the reins only when a dozen paces from her. Nuraya braced herself, suddenly unsure about how this conversation would go down.

  Salar Ihagra bowed his head. “It’s good to see you again, my princess. Been a long time since I saw you last at your father’s court.”

  Princess! She noticed Camsh flinch. Her siphsalar kept quiet though, probably recognizing the need to bite his tongue. However much she needed this salar though, she knew they would never get anywhere if she didn't assert herself. “Salar, I’m the rightful heir of my father, and the Sultana of Istan.”

  Salar Ihagra bowed his head again. Nuraya glared at him. Now that he was this close, she recognized the circular helmet, one that the city guard wore in Algaria. Raising his head, he curled one end of his spiked mustache. “I’m afraid the only monarch I’ve been taught to obey is the one sitting on the Peacock Throne.”

  Nuraya bristled at the slight. Whether the salar had meant this as an insult, his words had cut deep. “A rose, even one removed from the stem, retains its essence, Salar.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “My princess, I do not wish to get into an argument. All my life, I’ve served your father well without a complaint, and will not desecrate that now by arguing with his daughter.”

  Nuraya exhaled, aware of the eyes watching them. News of the mercenary force had spread through her men like wildfire. They had been grumbling of late, s
omething she had picked on herself as well, complaining of their weaknesses against their foes who were both better trained and better provisioned. Thankfully, they didn't talk much of the djinn attack—the commoners finding the whole tale apocryphal. The possibility of mounted men joining up had filled their hearts with hope. How would they feel if she failed to secure this salar’s obedience?

  “Salar Ihagra,” she said. “I understand you have some three thousand men under your command at the moment?”

  “Aye,” he said, this time not using any title. “A mix of men who lost their salars at the Battle of Algaria and city guards who didn't agree with… the elevation of one of them after the battle.” He thumped his chest. “Men who have served Istan with pride and distinction all their lives and wish to push back the invaders.”

  Nuraya caught the whiff of hesitation in the salar’s words. Then, realization dawned. Shoki had been a city guard as well. Had the two known each other? Was it possible that—

  She shook her head. She had banished the magus. And that meant she didn't have to keep thinking about him. “Bring your men over, Salar Ihagra. I have need of reinforcements for my march west once I’ve secured allies up north.”

  The salar sat very still in the saddle. Then, carefully, slowly, he shook his head. “I’m afraid my men’s loyalties are split three ways. Under me, they fight as one, all sons of Istan, ready to lay down their lives. Under either of you though, they would divide themselves. I simply wanted to come in person and assure you that we wouldn't be standing in your way, and you need not worry on our account.”

  Three ways? Nuraya gritted her teeth, glaring at the salar. Herself. Ahasan. And Shoki? Hadn't news of Shoki’s abdication traveled yet? And if the salar’s men comprised those who had witnessed Ahasan’s incompetence firsthand, how could they continue to feel any loyalty for that buffoon?

  She was caught between a rock and a hard place. The man in front seemed an able salar, one she could do beside her side, but she had ordered him explicitly to accompany her and he had declined. No diplomat, this Salar Ihagra, for otherwise, he would have used better words to blunt his reply, allowing them both to save face.