War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  Irritation bloomed within her. “For Rabb’s sake, can’t you leave these petty matters for the womenfolk?”

  His eyes flashed but he didn't respond immediately. He waved his hand toward her army, sweeping it over to the mountain where other peasants had been gathering. “Sister, you seemed to have developed a knack for attracting misfits.”

  “Recruits that would need to be provisioned and armed from Kohkam’s reserves.”

  Ahasan smiled, shaking his head slightly. “That can be arranged.”

  “Also, when we march for the western realm, we need to do so with all our forces,” she said carefully. “Can’t afford to not fight the Reratish with all our might.”

  He laughed easily. “You do not want me to stab you in the back. Just say so if that’s what concerns you.”

  She narrowed her eyes, refusing to take the bait. “I’ve got a nobleman who can work alongside your Nizam to ensure all is peaceful as we head west.”

  Ahasan continued to smile, then nodded. “Very well.”

  Nuraya exhaled, feeling some of the tension that had been gripping her for so long, finally beginning to leak away. “Ahasan, despite all that’s happened, we need to remember we are brother and sister first. Our priorities need to be the same. Whatever our disputes, we can look into them once we’ve driven out the Reratish and the Zakhanan. This is the time to unite, leaving all else by the wayside.”

  Ahasan stared at her for a long breath. Long enough for a bead of perspiration to start down her back. “Nuraya, you do know I am not going to give up my claim.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “And if we are to prevail over the Reratish, you know I would get the lion’s share of the credit being the eldest child?”

  She didn't respond.

  He shook his head. “What I don’t understand is why you bother with all this in the first place? If you were to run off to a refuge somewhere, neither the Reratish nor Zakhanan would bother pursuing you. You could live a comfortable, easy life anywhere you like.” He paused. “I heard what came of your proposed alliance with Prince Sabrish. You could do better, marry a nice Husalmin noble from the Zakhanan empire, even their crown prince, and return to Algaria as a queen.” He waved his flabby arm over to the soldiers behind her. “Why go through all this pain?”

  Nuraya exhaled. “Because that’s what Abba would have wanted from me.”

  “Ah.” For another short breath, Ahasan watched her, then nodded. “Brother and sister, just as you said.” He turned around. “Ever wonder what Abba would have done in these circumstances, eh? Regardless, the end is fast approaching, I feel. Let’s prepare for it, together.”

  Chapter 38

  Shoki

  “Stop!” Shoki croaked, reaching out a hand when the voices grew silent for a moment.

  Naila turned around, the stone grasped in her hand, her eyes glazing over.

  More shouts came from outside. Shoki craned his neck. The inquisitors stood at the threshold. Two of them had swords out. The others were linking arms, chanting in their forsaken language that set the hairs on his neck on end. The temperature plummeted even more.

  From the corner of his eye, Shoki saw Jiza shuffle toward the shelves to the side. Maharis and Lopas walked over to stand beside Naila. Maharis kept dabbing at his forehead, his gaze flitting between the inquisitors and Naila.

  “Maharis, help me!” croaked Shoki, his mind being pummeled by the pari folk and the inquisitors at the same time. The magus flinched from his words but didn’t look his way. Pain shooting through his temples, Shoki dragged his feet toward Naila. “Drop the stone!”

  Naila continued to grin. The inquisitors’ chanting grew louder. Shoki blinked. He didn't even have his well. Once the inquisitors were done with him, what would he end up like?

  “You… you lied,” Maharis was saying to Naila, waving his hand over to the inquisitors. “You said they would never know we’d arrived.”

  Naila kept quiet, her eyes still unfocused.

  Shoki swallowed, saw Jiza shove artifacts in her pockets.

  Naila hadn’t really come here to break the magi free or give him the answers he needed. Her eyes had been set on a much larger, grander prize. The Hejar stone. Something to do with blood magic, an act that required children and other macabre acts. That, and her magi armed with artifacts, would’ve been unstoppable.

  But she’d made a mistake, hadn’t she? At this rate, none of them would survive anyway.

  “Naila…” Shoki started, then screamed as more pain shot through his head. The voices were growing louder. The same excited, terrifying chatter he had heard when facing the queen at the Shahi Qilla.

  The pain subsided for a breath. He dragged his feet forward again, hoping to wrestle the stone away from Naila’s grasp.

  Another recollection floated up. The magi had been traveling west. What if that wasn’t merely a ruse, but a deliberate action? West, where Nuraya was bound once she had secured her alliance with Ahasan.

  West… where the Reratish forces had gathered under the command of their mysterious prince.

  Pieces fell into place, completing the picture. Answers he had wanted. Horrifying. Terrifying.

  West… where the Reratish prince had offered to marry Nuraya. A union that would have produced a spawn.

  “Oh, shit!” He turned around, dazed, shocked. “Oh, damnable guts of damned gods!” He had to get away, stop Naila. He stepped forward, screamed as the pain intensified.

  Two of the inquisitors stepped away, allowing an old inquisitor, his mustache and long flowing beard snow-white to limp forward. Three more ancient inquisitors followed him.

  “By the powers vested by Rabb,” he intoned, raising his index finger toward Naila, waving it across the gathered group of magi, “we sever you from your vile wells. Never shall you taste the foul taste again, and never shall you infect the worlds with your filth. We are—”

  Naila cackled. Heads jerked toward her. Throwing back her head, her hands still hugging the Akbar stone tight against her chest, she began speaking.

  Words in some language Shoki had never heard. Sounds and grunts he could hear whilst somehow knowing there were more words his ears couldn't perceive. Micro-tones within micro-tones like those the lute produced, enough for the heart to react to even when the ears failed.

  How did he know that? How did Naila have the ability to converse in this language?

  The queen had been an Ajeeb magus. One with the ability to see beyond the surface, locate elements by their essence.

  His eye widening, Shoki gasped. It all made sense now. How Naila had been able to locate artifacts despite never having been in the castle. How she had been such a formidable opponent when they had faced each other in the city. How easily she had fled from him when his victory had seemed assured.

  Naila was an Ajeeb magus. One who had been following her masters all along, just like the queen had. She hadn’t really fled from him, instead obeyed her masters who would’ve wanted to keep her existence a secret.

  A secret until they found out where the inquisitors stored the Hejar stone that Shoki had seen before. Had the pari folk invited Naila to their village as well, testing her to see whether she would make a valuable servant?

  The old inquisitor advanced once more, his eyes locked on Naila, his hand moving toward Lopas. The chanting grew. Maharis was shouting, Lopas trembling beside him.

  Only Naila stood her ground, her head still tilted back, still speaking in that ungodly tongue.

  “What have I done?” Shoki wailed, then reached for the Hejar stone again.

  A hand arrested his arm. “No! Don’t disrupt her!”

  Shoki shook his head. “Maharis, I have to—”

  The inquisitors raised a cry. The ground rumbled. Lopas fell, his body thrashing like Urnal’s had. Shoki stuttered back.

  An instant later, Lopas looked up, his eyes turned milky white as well.

  He rose, turned into a ghost. Like a moth seeking the fire, he shuffled
forward. Once more, the inquisitors parted, letting him pass through without a word.

  “Naila,” shouted Maharis, pointing at the inquisitors. “You piece of lying camel dung, you’ve doomed us all!”

  “By Rabb and the powers vested,” chanted the lead inquisitor once more, this time raising his finger toward Maharis who hissed and scrambled back, “seventeen of us order—”

  “Die, you creatures of the darkness!” shouted Naila, then raised her hand toward the inquisitor.

  The air shimmered. His breath catching, Shoki stared at the inquisitor who blinked, shaking his head in confusion. An uneventful moment passed. Then, the inquisitor crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  The inquisitors fell silent. Two of them reached for their fallen colleague, the others beginning to shuffle back. Maharis was shouting again, his words unintelligible to Shoki.

  “Die!” cried Naila once more. Another of the inquisitors fell away.

  “No,” shouted Shoki, tramping toward Naila. “We promised not to harm the inquisitors. Leave them—”

  Naila waved her arm. A gust of wind slammed into Shoki, pushing him back.

  “Naila, fight the pari folk,” Shoki cried. “Don’t let them—”

  Once more, Naila raised her finger toward the inquisitors. Another one crumpled to the ground.

  Shoki frowned. A magus couldn’t attack an inquisitor. That was the very first rule of jadu. Even if one didn’t have his or her blood taken by the Kalb, it was impossible for a magus to subvert the inquisitors.

  Unless… His eye fell on the Hejar stone. Unless they carried an Akbar stone like the Hejar. A stone that the pari folk themselves had been guarding for gods only knew how long. Did the Akbar stone grant an Ajeeb magus the power to harm the inquisitors? Was that why it had been banished from the world of humans and left with the pari folk?

  How had it returned here?

  It didn't matter. What did, was where Naila meant to take it. And the person she intended to harm with it.

  Taking in a deep lungful of air, fear twisting his innards, Shoki advanced toward Naila. He had to snatch the stone from her, take away the source of this ungodly power. Only then would they be able to—

  Naila waved her arm. Invisible fingers dug into his limbs and lifted him high in the air. Someone shrieked. Jiza? Struggling against the bonds, Shoki turned his head around. Jiza stood next to a shelf, shouting at Naila to let him go. He opened his mouth just as the fingers flung him toward her. Jiza stepped out of the way and he crashed into the shelves, the wind leaving his chest.

  For long moments, Shoki lay on his back, his eye squeezed shut, the curtain of darkness growing heavier.

  People were shouting. Inquisitors and magi. Naila was cackling. Over the cacophony, rose the terrible voices.

  Voices he shouldn't have been able to hear.

  He couldn’t make sense of the words, but they pulled at him, drawing him toward them.

  Hands fell on him. He forced his eye open. Jiza stood over him, her long hair dangling over his face. “Get up!”

  Shoki tried, then winced in pain. Forcing himself on an elbow, he looked up. The inquisitors had fled, leaving behind three unmoving bodies. Maharis stood simpering to one side.

  “You,” croaked Maharis, pointing at Naila, “deceived me. I told everyone that the magi were serious in wanting to strike a truce with the inquisitors.”

  Naila turned toward the magus. “Some men never learn!” She laughed then, still clutching the stone against her bosom, walked out of the room leaving them alone.

  Chapter 39

  Nuraya

  Nuraya frowned as they came across another burned village. Some nameless little place that would never have imagined not one, but two Istani royals visiting it.

  Except they weren’t really visiting the village—just another mile marker as they rushed west—and there was no one left alive to either greet them or acknowledge the occasion.

  “Camsh,” she called out to her siphsalar, who was listening to a scout, their horse hooves clacking over the cobbled streets of the charred village, the sun a ball of fire to her right. “What does Ahasan make of these scenes?”

  Camsh turned toward her, motioning the scout to leave them. His face seemed to have grown even gaunter over the past few days of marching. “I wouldn't know, my sultana.” He moved his chin toward Ahasan’s retinue, a good three hundred yards to their left. “I suspect he cares more about ensuring he doesn't fall behind us and lose prestige, than worrying about the fate of all these people he couldn't care less about.”

  Nuraya drummed her fingers on the pommel of her saddle. Though Camsh was right about her brother’s pettiness, the reminder felt personal somehow, as though she too shared his traits for having shared the same father.

  No. Ahasan and she were not the same. She was a woman, but it was Ahasan who had always been more worried about appearances. Camsh was right. Ahasan hated the harsh pace she was setting, but he could neither rush ahead in case he fell into an ambush she might have set for him, nor could he fall behind in case that was interpreted as a sign of weakness on his part. After a lifetime in the diwan-e-aam, he had definitely acquired the preternatural talent for matters of etiquette and precedence.

  “My sultana, I still do not trust your brother’s intentions,” Camsh said, pulling his horse closer to hers.

  “He and I are family, Camsh. The only Istani left alive. No matter his weaknesses, even he has realized the time for petty differences is past us.”

  “With all due respect, he’s a man.” Camsh hesitated. “And it’s not too hard for him to… maintain the Istani line on his own.”

  “His wife is barren. Besides, none of that matters,” she said, waving her arm at the ruins to her left that could have been the village’s sole inn. “Even if there were a thousand of us, none of us would want to rule our realm like this.”

  “He agreed too easily to our offer of alliance.”

  She chuckled. “I doubt he had many choices.” She nodded, more to herself than for her siphsalar’s sake. “It would have come down to how his decisions would play out in front of others. By marching to him, we forced his hand. He could either join forces with me, act the noble brother, or remain within a city with the local populace up in arms.”

  “Still,” Camsh said, shaking his head. “I just don’t buy his motivation. All this time, he had been huddling behind his strong walls. As for the protests, he could have quashed them anytime with an iron fist. Why choose such an uncertain fate over one where he could have defended himself for years?”

  “Because,” she snapped, waving her arm at the sea of riders behind them, the vast majority gripping the reins too tight, sitting stiffly in the saddles, “he now has more than thirty thousand soldiers. A lot more than before, giving him decent odds over the Reratish engaged in skirmishes with the Zakhanan forces.” She paused. “And it’s not like he’s burned all his bridges. Should our confrontation go bad, there is nothing stopping him from fleeing back to Kohkam. Fleeing, after all, is something he’s good at.”

  Camsh continued to shake his head.

  Nuraya could have argued more with him, but what was the point? She had confronted Ahasan personally, had taken him to task for his actions. He hadn't imprisoned her mother, an action she could readily see the grand vizier carrying out on his own. And like her, he too had placed his trust in others like the Zakhanan ambassadors who had ended up deceiving him. Just as he had alleged, if he was guilty for revealing Istan’s soft underbelly to the Zakhanan empire, she shared the blame for providing an opening to the Reratish.

  Two living children of the great sultan, both marred by the terrible choices they had made. She had learned from her mistakes though. And in Ahasan, beneath the flabby facade, she had seen glimpses of the pain and shame that had afflicted him too.

  They had suffered, both of them. They had lost their father, their brother, and all the prestige associated with their name. In a way, sh
e and Ahasan had more in common now than ever before.

  Something Camsh and others like him would never understand.

  “We need to keep an eye out,” said Camsh. “I’ve already setup a network of scouts to ensure we can monitor any lines of communications between him and any other forces he might have already secreted ahead to ambush us.”

  “He will not betray me.” She grimaced, finding it hard to argue against her pragmatic siphsalar. “Just… make sure your scouts don’t get caught. The last thing I need is a testy exchange with Ahasan.”

  “Aye.”

  They rode on in silence through the streets littered with the detritus of the once flourishing community. The din behind her was growing louder, angry voices seeing firsthand the kind of enemy they were facing. As she rode out of the village proper and into the vast fields, she gasped. Not only had the Reratish burned down the village, putting the locals to the sword, but they had also set the standing crops to fire. Not the work of an honorable foe. More that of demons pillaging in human flesh.

  Not slowing down, Nuraya turned her head around. As far as she could see, her gaze met snarling faces. It didn't matter how well they rode, or whether they had been peasants or warriors in their past lives, these men and women following the two Istani siblings were indignant, their souls clamoring for vengeance.

  Nuraya’s eyes fell on a thin, young woman riding some fifty yards behind her. A northerner, her pale face flush with anger, her eyes narrowed. Noticing her, the woman roared.

  Nuraya nodded, turned back.

  “The scout brought more news,” said Camsh, trying and failing to keep his eyes away from the smoldering crops. “Prince Sabrish has heard of our march. His forces are digging trenches outside Buzdar, and he has called in reinforcements.”

  Nuraya grimaced, shifting in the saddle. “He’s not marching ahead to face us in an open battlefield?”

  “He’s… cautious, this Prince Sabrish.” Camsh looked around. “And ruthless.”