War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  That was what Ahasan needed to see. She wasn't a lioness without fangs, but someone with the whole of Istan behind her. Strength she had gained not just because of whose daughter she was, but something she had earned on her own!

  “My sultana,” said Camsh when they were six miles out from the fortress city, “have you given some thought to how you want to negotiate with your brother?”

  Nuraya pursed her lips. She was tired—they all were—after the long trek, but that hadn't put off the grand vizier’s son from asking the same question over and over again. “Rabb will guide my words.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “Be that as it may, it might pay to appeal to his sense of ego. From what I saw of your brother, he is one with whom flattery would do wonders.”

  She didn't reply. Had she been like her brother as well? Easy to manipulate through fancy words and phrases meant to nudge her toward fulfilling others’ agendas? “If that’s what Rabb wants.”

  Camsh nodded, then turned his head back at the masses following them, his brows furrowing. He was still not happy with the chaotic mess behind them. Nuraya sighed, clenching the reins tight. If appealing to the divine would have put him off that easily, she should have tried that the first time he had badgered her. She dabbed at her forehead, ignoring the weight settling in her stomach at what awaited her at Kohkam. Funny how, despite not believing in the divine—whether the Unseen God of the Husalmin or the hundreds of other avatars in other religions, appealing to a deity and its mysterious ways seemed to calm men’s fears.

  Not something that would have worked on women, she decided, who by and far believed in the tangible.

  They crested a hill, and she caught her first glimpse of Kohkam in the distance.

  Miles of stone wall ran along rocky terrain between mountains. Three massive gates. Barbicans and guard towers stood every hundred yards. She turned her chin up, focusing on the second wall, on higher ground, a hundred or so yards beyond the first, littered by even more guard towers, decked by streamers and massive flags depicting the roaring lion of Istan.

  Beyond both sets of walls, almost as high as the nearest mountain peak, sat the city of Kohkam itself, its minarets and ziggurats partially obscured by clouds. A city that had never been conquered by any force throughout known history. Home to a hundred thousand of the proud Kohkami people.

  Ahasan’s refuge.

  Her eyes plastered to the city, some of its golden domes glinting under the bright noon sun, she imagined Ahasan’s life within these walls. She hadn't really known him well, but her oldest half-brother had always enjoyed the delights that Algaria provided thanks to its cosmopolitan makeup. He had been fond of hanging out with diplomats and merchants from far-off lands, engaging in hobbies and activities that most other Istani, even from the nobility, would have frowned upon. How would he be faring in a city whose best claim to fame was of the hearty nature of the people that lived there, instead of the materialistic things that had so occupied the Iron Sultan’s eldest son?

  She exhaled, flipping the scenario around—one more thing she’d never given much thought before. How were the people of Kohkam responding under the command of someone as soft as Ahasan, after they’d experienced Kinas earlier?

  As she started riding down the hill, her heart ached at the memory of Kinas. What would she not give for the ability to reverse time, to engage in a dialog with her brother, to see that he didn't end up losing his life!

  No. She had to think ahead, prepare for the battle ahead. Ahasan had good men with him. More salars she could use to plot her fight against the Reratish and Zakhanan.

  The din grew behind her as more of her soldiers crested the hill, catching their first glimpses of the mountain city. In a way, she could see why they cheered so. In front was a city that still remained free from any foreign influence, one that would remain the bastion of the Istani Sultanate even if the foreign bastards ended up controlling every other inch of her realm.

  No matter what happened, they all knew that Kohkam would always remain free.

  In the distance, a dozen or so riders peeled away from others stationed outside the first set of walls and began riding hard for them. Little more than tiny figures across the vast plain, though, with each breath they continued to grow larger.

  “What a sight, eh?” said Ranal, puffing slightly. “Never thought I’d ever get to see the city of the clouds.”

  Nuraya grinned, pleased to hear from him. “It’s indeed something.” The nobleman had taken ill during the journey. Again. Something he’d eaten that had disturbed the delicate equilibrium of his stomach and bowels, the details a matter he had seemed perfectly willing to share with anyone in hearing distance.

  “Might be good to stay here for a while,” he said hopefully. “The poor soldiers, especially all those on foot could do with a bit of rest after the harsh travels.”

  “We do not have the luxury of time. Each day that we waste out here is a day the Reratish and the Zakhanan strengthen their footing in the realm.”

  “Ah,” he said, hanging his head. He raised his fingers to his eyes, shaking his head as if disappointed at his chipped fingernails. “I understand. Still, a grand city like this… would be a shame to leave it to the vagaries of some local nizam with untested loyalties.”

  Nuraya exhaled, sweeping her gaze toward the city. The riders were only half a mile or so out, already past her scouts. More movement up ahead caught her eye. She squinted at the city gates. All three main gates were opening, letting out a steady stream of armored men and horses. Her breath catching, she caught sight of golden armored knights emerge from the central gate. Honor guard for Ahasan—his take on the Sultan’s Body.

  “Oh Rabb, have mercy on us all,” wailed Ranal, dabbing at his forehead, his beady eyes focusing on the city gates as well. “Far too many to be simply a welcoming party, no?” He squirmed in his saddle. “I could really do without a battle. Definitely, not now!”

  She didn't respond, her eyes following a sizeable contingent of cavalry riding to the left. She followed them, then blinked. How had she missed it? Nestled under the shade of a vast mountain, thousands upon thousands of tiny figures were moving. They seemed to be wearing no armor, nor did they seem to be carrying any weapons that might catch the sunlight.

  Were these the peasants the ambassador had mentioned?

  “Stay here, my sultana,” shouted Camsh, then, motioning Jinan to follow him, spurred his horse, cantering toward the approaching riders.

  “Oh Rabb,” croaked Ranal, pulling on the reins so tight his horse snorted. Nuraya slowed down her horse to a walk as well.

  Camsh and Jinan met the riders a good two hundred yards away. Men being men, they shouted at each other, the northerners speaking some harsh dialect of Nirdu, the snippets she could hear, making no sense.

  Finally, Camsh turned around, and leaving Jinan behind, rode back. “Ahasan wants you and no more than a dozen men to approach him in the city.”

  “Out of the question,” declared Ranal. “This would be a breach of etiquette. She’s the sultana, and he is… well, her brother. If anyone, it should be he who rides to us!”

  “Not something he agrees to,” said Camsh, not bringing up the fact that Ahasan, too, claimed to be the ruler of Istan.

  Nuraya shook her head. “This is not the time to let these petty matters affect any chance at securing an alliance and march west. I am willing to go to him.”

  “My sultana,” said Camsh, exchanging a glance with Ranal, “any protocols and points of etiquette that we devise now would stand in good stead for a long while. Besides, if we are to give in to him now, what’s to stop him from expecting more concessions from us in the future?”

  “What does he want from me?” she asked.

  “For you to capitulate to him publicly before he would consider throwing in his weight behind us.”

  She considered her options. She was the sultana, the rightful heir of Abba, but that was something Ahasan objected to, of course. Her e
go, something that might have been an issue before, wasn't really a consideration now, but she could see the precedent her actions now might set for the future.

  “There is an alternative I can propose,” said Camsh. “Both Ahasan and yourself could meet in the plains outside the walls, each accompanied by a dozen of their choosing.”

  “Camel dung Ahasan needs to come to us!” growled Ranal. Then he squirmed in the saddle, gritting his teeth. “My sultana, apologies, but I might have to sit this meeting out. Erm… urgent, and… pressing matter at hand!” She nodded. He turned his horse around and rode off in a huff.

  Nuraya exhaled. “Camsh, I agree with your approach. And to help speed up the process, let’s head out now.”

  Once Camsh had returned with Jinan, having relayed her words back to Ahasan’s riders, Nuraya, accompanied by Camsh, Jinan, and ten of the strongest Sultana’s Hands, started trotting toward Kohkam. Thoughts raced through her mind as the voices behind her continue to grow quiet. Was she making a mistake here? What if Ahasan decided to send fast cavalry instead of coming out to see her personally? Would there be enough time to turn around and get back to safety?

  As if sensing her fears, Jinan turned to her. “Go back! Wait till the bastard himself comes in person.”

  Nuraya blinked at the rare words from the man who had been her former siphsalar. His eyes still carried the wild glint that had made a permanent home, but for the moment, he seemed in control of his passion.

  He nodded. “After Mona, I can’t lose you too.”

  She forced a grin despite the pang that spread in her heart. “Rabb will look after me.”

  Again, the gambit worked. Grumbling to himself, Jinan turned around, turning his horse to ride ahead of her.

  Once they had ridden halfway between her army and the city, they came to a stop. Half an hour passed as they waited under the blistering sun. Time enough that she too began wondering if it would be worthwhile turning back before she didn't have the opportunity. But like the gambler who had bet too much to pull out afterward, she stood her ground. If Ahasan wanted to break her resolve, show her as the one who turned her back to a reconciliation first, she would prove him wrong.

  Finally, a group of dozen knights started riding toward them from the city. Two of the knights, decked in the golden, pristine armor that the Sultan’s Body would have worn for the real sultan, banners streaming on poles they carried in their arms, led the contingent. Were they even men who had served under Hanim, or just random northern soldiers play-acting?

  She swallowed. If these men had indeed once been part of the Sultan’s Body, would they remember how her mother had killed their salar in broad daylight?

  Nuraya shook her head, refusing to let doubts and worries weaken her. What had happened was behind her. What mattered was what lay ahead.

  Five hundred yards away, the two lead knights broke into a gallop. Pulling hard at their reins once they were close, they scanned their faces, their eyes lingering on Nuraya. She smiled. Ahasan wanted to make sure this wasn't a trick on her part to send in a decoy instead.

  Well, she was here, in person.

  One of the knights raised his hand, his horse snorting.

  Nuraya clicked her heels and rode out in front of her men, inclining her chin to see the other riders better.

  Ahasan rode at the back of his dozen, one hand clutching the saddle of a massive warhorse. She grimaced, recalling how he’d always preferred a mare over a warhorse. He might have wanted to ride something docile today as well, but he, too, was one well-aware of the value of impressions and had decided on a warhorse instead to reflect strength. Too bad he ended up looking even feebler.

  The riders stopped some two dozen paces from them. Then, Ahasan clicked his heels and emerged out of the protective bubble.

  “Sister, so good to see you at last!” he shouted.

  Nuraya didn't reply immediately, her eyes scrutinizing him. Here was the man who had kidnapped her mother, sent men to assassinate her, setting off the complex chain of events that had allowed Reratish forces to invade Buzdar. He was the reason Istan was facing all the threats it did at present. Yet, after all was said and done, he was also the only family she had left. The only remaining connection to Abba.

  “Brother,” she replied, “you look good.”

  He beamed, caressing the slight mustache he had started growing. He was just as plump as she remembered. He might have left Algaria, but judging by the fine cut of his tunic, the dazzling rings on his stubby fingers, Algaria hadn't quite left him yet. “So, have you finally come to declare your support for my claim?”

  Anger blazed through her. “Ahasan, by all that is right and just, I should be skewering you right now!” She clucked her horse forward, one finger rising to point at him. “How dare you even think of something as petty as this instead of falling to your knees and begging for forgiveness?”

  Her words came out hot, hotter than she had wanted. Blessed by her bright eyes that she knew put others at ill-ease even at the best of times, the past few months had helped burnish her command of her anger, allowing her to wield it as a hammer against men’s frail egos. Ahasan had always been a weak man. One prone to hiding behind the robes of others, never one to speak his mind out loud. Good at neither physical nor verbal jousts.

  Yet her words seemed to not affect him in the least. He sat calmly in his saddle, blinking, but not looking away. Once more, she recalled her meeting with him after Abba’s death, and how his calm, calculating demeanor then had made her reevaluate how she’d considered him all her life. No, despite all the outward appearances of fluff and softness, he, too, was an Istan on the inside.

  Something she would do well to remember.

  “I can see why you might think you’ve got cause against me,” he said finally. “Would you believe me if I said I never ordered your mother to be imprisoned?”

  Nuraya snorted. “And you weren't the one who sent your men, accompanied by Zakhanan mercenaries to assassinate me either, correct?”

  “True. Instead, those men were meant to have protected you from those who assassinated Abba.”

  Biting her lower lip, Nuraya glared at him. She couldn't trust him for more reasons than she bothered to count, but if he was telling a lie, he could have chosen something much more believable.

  “The grand vizier ordered your mother’s imprisonment. Once I found out, I commanded him to explain himself. He hadn't known for sure at that time, but he shared his reasons with me on why he suspected her hand behind Abba’s death.” He shrugged as if not wanting to press the point that the grand vizier had been correct in the end.

  Nuraya narrowed her eyes. “What of the charges that you’ve been under the spell of the Zakhanan for a long time? That they supported you both with resources and men to usurp the crown?”

  He kept quiet, his beady eyes poring over her. Again, she was struck by the fact that they were both related, both children of the great Sultan Anahan, and despite all outward appearances, more alike than not. He nodded. “Alas, the time has passed for dissembling. Something I’m sure you’d agree with as well.” He paused as if to muster courage. “The Zakhanan encouraged me to press my claim to the Peacock Throne. Perhaps I’d have waited longer to claim my right, had they not promised their initial support, but that didn't change the fact that I was the sultan’s eldest child, and in the absence of a will, I had the strongest claim!”

  “Sons and daughters of Istan haven’t historically listened to the wills of their fathers to decide matters of succession,” she noted bitterly.

  “Sons,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “We’ve never had a female sultana. No matter what you might think, Sister, or others around you might want you to believe, the idea of a woman monarch in Istan is as wrong as that of a Husalmin priest working in the whorehouse.” As she opened her mouth to argue, he raised a hand. “Believe me, I never had any conflict with you. With Kinas, yes. But when we met after Abba’s death and I’d given you my word not to harm
you, I’d every intention of honoring my word. Something I did honor. Don’t you think I could have easily captured you when you were trying to flee?”

  “You…” Nuraya sputtered with anger. “You made a mess of it all. Had you… just talked with me, things could have turned out better. Instead, you ended up encouraging the Zakhanan to cross our eastern borders. You… have broken Istan.”

  “I made mistakes,” he said, nodding. “Not something I’d admit to in front of others, mind you. But yes, there is little harm in saying that to you.” He raised a finger. “Need I remind you of your mistakes, Sister? The way you ceded Buzdar and Nikhtun to the Reratish? How you did nothing to punish your mother who poisoned the Iron Sultan? Or how your adventures with the magi ended up weakening the honorable institution of the Kalb, condemning us all to the specter of rogue magi?”

  Nuraya scowled at Ahasan who met her glare evenly. For long breaths, both of them, the two surviving children of the great Sultan Anahan eyed each other, aware of the tense glares of the men directly behind them and the armies that stood at the brink of battle.

  “Ahasan, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about,” she said finally. “No matter what happened between us, we cannot fight amongst ourselves while Istan burns.”

  “On that,” he said, “I agree completely.”

  Nuraya sucked her teeth. So far, so good. “We need to march west. The Reratish forces are closer. Once we can subdue them and their Prince Sabrish, we can squeeze the Zakhanan from both north and east.”

  He considered her words. “We’ll have to consider modes of conduct. Can’t have two rulers of Istan at the same time.”