War of the Sultans
Page 32
That knowledge did little to ease the dread spreading in his gut.
“I… I can’t keep up!” wheezed Maharis. “I—”
Shoki whipped his head around. “Thank you for your help so far. You didn’t have to.” Maharis said something but under the roar of fighting men, Shoki didn’t hear him.
He and Jiza turned left, taking the long circuitous route through to the Reratish pavilion standing largely unguarded a mile away. If they were lucky, they wouldn't find many Reratish forces here, considering their siphsalar had filled the vast valley with his men.
“Do you want to find her there?” shouted Jiza, pointing at the distant hills flying the Istani banners.
“No,” he shouted back, pointing at the pavilion, his heart thudding in his chest. “The Reratish prince… I need to stop him!” Before he completes his blood magic ritual—whatever in the gods’ guts that is!
Jiza kept quiet.
His instincts proved him right. It seemed the mass of humanity was all gathering in the center of the valley, all divisions between men and their stations and nationalities erased under the grind of war, leaving the path through the Reratish campsite free.
Normally, an army would have left behind auxiliary forces, staff to tend to medical injuries, hangers-on of various sorts. The only time an army left behind no one was when it set out to thoroughly vanquish its enemy, not even leaving behind surgeons for its own wounded. Kill or be killed, a mantra that ensured a speedy conclusion to any battle.
Get away, Nuraya! he prayed, turning his head back to the distant trees where Istani banners flew. Flee!
As they crested a shallow hill, they came upon a dozen or so cooks manning pots.
“Hey!” one of them shouted at them. “Halt!”
Shoki kicked his mare, willing her to go even faster, leaving them coughing in his dust.
No soldier accosted them when they finally arrived at the pavilion. Shoki jumped off the mare smoothly, glancing over once toward the valley. Peals of bugles rose over the buzzing of voices brimming with the shouts of death and murder.
“The prince wouldn't be inside,” said Jiza, joining him. “They wouldn’t leave the pavilion unguarded.”
Shoki licked his lips, then reached for the flap.
The pavilion within was vast.
And empty.
Shoki paused, beginning to turn around when his eye fell on a heap of rich silk clothes lying near the desk.
“No!” He rushed toward the mound. A man’s carcass, Shoki noted with great relief. A large man’s, his face smashed in beyond recognition, three fingers sliced off his right hand. Was that part of the ritual? Shoki turned around. “The prince isn't here!” His heart thrummed inside him and he looked around in panic.
No one but him, and the dead man.
Shoki rushed toward the flap again. Maybe Jiza was right and the prince had already left his camp. Why had his heart been pulling him here then, the pull he now recognized as the Hejar stone?
The ground shook underneath them, just as a sizzling sound spread outside the pavilion.
His heart beating fast, Shoki sprinted out of the pavilion.
A blanket of fire, brighter even than the sun, was taking form directly over the valley, yellow tongues of flames snaking out.
“Magi!” he croaked. “Djinn magi!”
The ground rolled once more and Shoki lost his balance.
“Drenpa is here,” said Jiza, standing tall despite the tremors. “As are the others.”
His heart dropping, Shoki stepped toward the valley. His mare, standing outside the pavilion, neighed, then bolted toward the city. Jiza’s horse took after her as well.
Shoki stopped.
Figures floated in the sky between the blanket of fire spreading out like a cloud and the men fighting underneath. Magi. His kin.
How many of these were magi he had helped by breaking into the inquisitor castle?
In between the circle of magi, floated two figures. His heart tugged at them.
A woman, her long white hair flowing around her like a thousand snakes. And a man wearing a hood drawn over his face.
Thunder clapped just as the ground rolled again.
“There!” shouted Jiza. Shoki followed her gaze. From the north, a hundred or so monstrous men and women were marching toward the battlefield. They were huge, taller than the nearby trees, their inhuman faces shrouded by thick smoke, their mouths snarling. As one, they raised their hands. Streaks of fire shot upward, joining the blanket of fire overhead.
“Djinn,” he croaked.
The battle in the valley had ceased. Whether the men had been fighting for Nuraya or the Reratish, they all stood mesmerized now, frozen in place, their eyes flitting between the flying magi and the approaching monsters.
“No,” whispered Shoki. Then, his eye fell on a prone figure floating up toward the magi. A woman, her dark hair unbound, wearing a leather vest over a white peshwaz. “Nuraya!”
The other magi swam away as Nuraya joined the two figures. Naila cackled, the sound carrying all the way over to him. She carried a stone in her hands. One Shoki knew by the way it called out to him. Again, she laughed, the sound booming throughout the valley.
“No,” Shoki croaked, then turned and grabbed Jiza by the arms. “You must be able to do something. Gift me your power. Talk to the djinn, your kin!”
She continued to shake her head. “My well is drained.”
“You have to help me!”
Jiza hung her head.
Desperate, Shoki turned toward the magi, took a couple of paces forward before stopping himself. Was there really nothing he could do? He whipped his head around. Where was Maharis? Did he have anything Shoki could use?
They were alone on the hill.
His heart racing, Shoki inclined his chin. The robed magus and Naila circled around Nuraya’s prone figure.
“No!” Shoki shrieked, clenching his fingers so tight he felt the skin break. It wasn't right that he stood here doing nothing, watching her, his Nuraya, get captured by magi he had helped.
Not right at all!
“I gift you, Afrasiab, the woman you’ve desired all this while!” said Naila, her voice carrying over the battlefield once more.
Jiza hissed, standing very still. Shoki shook his head, then froze recognizing the name.
“Afrasiab? The ancient Ajeeb magus?” Once more, Shoki swept his gaze toward the flying magi. The robed magus, Afrasiab, floated closer to Nuraya.
Shoki closed his eye, summoned all the strength and willpower at his disposal. Gods of the Atishi and the Fanna and the Unseen God, grant me the strength to fight these abominations of yours. Let me… and I will give you anything you desire. ANYTHING!
Crying, tears leaking from his eye, Shoki reached for his jadu.
This had to be the moment when he found his jadu once more. It had to. He had to rescue Nuraya. There was so much to do. So much!
He tried and strained, his fingers reaching, extending, finding nothing to grasp.
Nothing.
“No!” he screamed, his eye squeezing shut.
Dimly, he heard panicked shouting from the battlefield. He had no idea whether the soldiers there shouted because they had resumed their fighting or were trying to flee.
“With the line of Istan returned to you,” Naila’s voice boomed once more, “may you fulfill the goals of our masters.”
His shoulders slumping, Shoki opened his eye.
He had lost. There was nothing he could do. Apart from the vile abominable powers jadu had granted him, he had nothing else to offer.
Afrasiab rested a hand on Nuraya’s shoulder, the other reaching out toward the Akbar artifact. The Hejar stone. One Shoki had touched in the past.
Naila cackled.
A flash of lightning spread where Afrasiab had been, bright enough to blind Shoki temporarily. When the light faded, both Afrasiab and Nuraya had vanished.
Shoki’s knees buckled. He collapsed on his knees, his e
ye scanning the sky that had swallowed the woman he loved. He was too late.
“Nuraya…” he croaked.
Jiza stood beside him. She had worries of her own, a part of him that could still process the terrible events around him knew. Drenpa and his minions had arrived in the human world, showing no fear of the inquisitors. One more thing he had helped them with unwittingly. What did that mean for Nainwa, her city?
Shoki didn't care.
He did know one thing.
Nuraya was gone.
More shouts went up as the ground rumbled once more. This time, the quake was stronger than any they had felt so far. The air crackled, sizzled, the ends of his hair beginning to singe. With tears in his eye, he looked up. The blanket of fire was beginning to descend as the magi flew toward the western horizon.
The djinn continued to advance from the north, turning their fires toward the soldiers themselves. The sea of humanity roiled, jabbed by lightning strikes from the clouds, flung aside by the quakes, burned to cinders by the djinn attacks. No flags flew now. No one soldier stood out from the other.
Shoki watched it all, his senses relaying information he could do nothing about.
One thought did rise over the others. One he could make sense of.
Afrasiab was here.
The ancient Ajeeb magus.
Why?
What did he plan with Nuraya of all people?
More flashes of bright lightning made him look up. One by one, the magi were vanishing. Did they have a magus with the power to move them from one place to another, and a second who granted them the ability to fly? Were these new wells they had acquired through artifacts Naila had helped them with?
More useless questions for more idle minds.
“Get up,” Jiza said finally. “We need to leave.”
“No.”
“Stay here and you'll never find her again.”
Shoki squeezed his eye shut, then nodded. He felt her hand grab his arm. His teeth chattering, his knees still buckling under him, Shoki let Jiza guide her away from the killing fields.
He would rescue Nuraya.
No matter what it took.
No matter the cost.
The “Divided Sultanate” Series
Hope you’ve enjoyed reading ‘War of the Sultans’.
The story continues in book 3—slated to be released toward the end of this year.
In the meantime, consider signing up to my newsletter to be the first to know when book 3 is available.
About the Author
Fuad Baloch is an emerging author of fantasy and science fiction novels.
To keep up with Fuad, please visit fuadbaloch.com and join the subscription list.
Also by Fuad Baloch:
The Hard Choice
The Lost Prophet
The Faithless Prophet
Lady of the Sands
Blood of a Sultan
Lions of Istan