The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  Yasir continued to shake his head, the flickering light casting a golden glow on his aged features. Aboor gritted his teeth. In another age where was still a patedar salar, he might actually have been friends with the taciturn magus who seemed to have his head bolted on the right way.

  “The end times are coming…” Yasir muttered to himself, the words carrying over the gentle crackle of fire.

  Aboor couldn't stop the hairs at the back of his neck from standing on end. Strange how much power religious superstition could cast even thousands of years after its teachings. The religious texts, both Atishi and Husalmin, talked of the grave perils the world of men had faced when the Divide had melted away. Tales of blights that had lasted generations. Centuries, even.

  Ignoring the magus and the inquisitors, Aboor stretched out his leg toward the fire, once more thankful for the gentle heat warming his limbs. The fire was an enemy, one he feared, yet there was no good exposing that fear, nor any benefit to be gained by shunning the few advantages it did offer.

  He was guilty of what he blamed his young inquisitors for, as well. He, too, wanted to ignore what didn’t agree with his conception of the world.

  Naila, a magus, had repelled inquisitors chanting the Divine Chant.

  Aboor felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach. All inquisitor dogma was based on one fundamental axiom. The magi couldn’t harm the inquisitors. Not even indirectly. A boon awarded by the almighty himself, sign of his favor of their cause.

  Yet, if the news was true, and one magus had managed to break through a group of seventeen inquisitors, then that bode badly for them all. He watched the magus. Did Yasir know something he hadn't shared with them yet? If he did, that was information that Aboor would have—

  Something whooshed outside the open windows.

  Aboor tensed.

  A voice shrieked, followed by the sound of clattering and heavy objects banging into each other.

  The inquisitors exchanged nervous glances. An uneasy silence fell. Aboor shook his head, uneasy, troubled. Instincts honed over a lifetime were shouting at him, warning him. But what was there to worry about? They were safely ensconced in the center of the town, guarded by a dozen soldiers the nizam had provided them. Even if the magi were stupid enough to break through the cordon and dare attack them, targeting this many inquisitors was calling for trouble. Even if they had the same… power as Naila, they’d be facing the nizam’s men as well.

  The air filled with a whistling sound as something came flying inside the windows.

  “Duck!” Aboor shouted.

  He was too late. An arrow found a home in Uasan’s forehead. The inquisitor blinked, one hand rising at the blood that erupted from his head, then the next instant, he was crumpling to the ground.

  “Get away from the windows!” Aboor roared once more, kicking the table toward the window to the side as he scrambled to the floor. Blood pounded his temples, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Bloodlust. The strange state of being between dying and living.

  Kadoon was shouting, his face pale. “Who—” Something smashed against the shuttered doors and the inquisitor shrieked like a little girl.

  “Rouse the others!” Aboor shouted at Kadoon, who continued to shake his head in disbelief, scrambling back until his back touched the walls. “Get up, gods damn you!”

  The doors shuddered as something dense and heavy thudded against it. Aboor whipped his head around. The innkeeper was nowhere in sight. He turned toward the inquisitors on his table. “Get down!” They blinked at him stupidly, their faces blank.

  The beer!

  Aboor swore, slapping his knee in disgust. Not even the pain could keep him down now. He had been blind, so very blind all this time. They’d been drugged. That had to explain the delayed reactions of the inquisitors. Kadoon had likely survived the worst for he was built like an ox.

  “Kadoon!” Aboor bellowed, reaching for, and grabbing him by the collar. “Get your fat ass up and rouse the inquisitors. Tell them to arm themselves!”

  “B-b-but they c-can’t attack us!” Kadoon stammered, his frightened eyes flitting between Aboor and the open windows. He closed his eyes as glass smashed. “W-we are i-inquisitors.”

  “Not being attacked by magi, you fool!” Aboor slapped him on the face. “Swords. Arrows. Shields. Men. Now!”

  Kadoon blinked stupidly, shaking his head. Aboor slapped him once more and finally he nodded. He rose to a crouch, then ran toward the stairwell that led up to the beds the nizam had assigned his men.

  Aboor dashed toward the table he had flung toward the window. Whoever their attackers were, they seemed to have ignored the windows to their own detriment. Had it been Aboor leading the charge, he would have planned an overwhelming attack, leaving nothing to chance. More arrows flew in through the open window. Another inquisitor shrieked. Gritting his teeth, Aboor dropped to his fours, and crawled forward to look for his sword he had unbuckled on the table.

  There! His heart thudding, Aboor reached for it. The floor underneath him rumbled, followed by the sound of wood splintering. Aboor grabbed his sword, then rushed to take cover behind a pillar.

  He heard the scuffle of feet and shouting as the few inquisitors and magi who still had their senses, followed his lead, and took to the shadows.

  Confused shouts came from the stairwell as inquisitors descended into the hall just as a mob carrying axes and swords and burning torches broke through.

  Aboor stood his ground, clutching the sword with both hands, readying his strength for not just the first blow, but for all those that would need to follow.

  Three inquisitors fell even before they had stepped down from the stairwell. No matter what Kadoon had told them, it seemed they hadn’t believed his warnings about their attackers being non-magi and hadn’t prepared accordingly.

  They had been betrayed. Aboor’s blood boiled. The inquisitors of the Kalb had been betrayed by an Istani in an Istani town.

  Aboor shoved the distracting thoughts to the side. A tall man draped in the white tunic the miners preferred in the east was sidling up to him. His mace was bloody, his horse-like face split in a grin.

  Aboor inhaled a deep lungful of air, then bore down at the miner with all his strength.

  Chapter 24

  Nuraya

  “We should return to our horses,” Kafayos declared, turning his pompous face toward the two elder djinn. “This human is going to get us into another needless altercation. Just because there is activity up ahead doesn’t mean it involves us.”

  Nuraya felt her pulse quicken. She stopped and glared at him as an owl hooted in the distance, lending a haunting effect to the dark night. “No one asked you to accompany me. Stay behind if you want to.”

  Kafayos drew himself up to his full height. Whether or not this was his real form, the djinn was still a good half a hand taller and three stones heavier than her. As his dark eyes glinted under the moonlight, he presented a frightening visage.

  It failed to frighten her. She clicked her tongue dismissively. “Mara, Yahni, both of you can stay back with Kafayos. It’s my call to investigate ahead, and none of you have to involve yourselves in this.”

  Mara crossed his arms over his bare chest, ignoring Yahni shaking her head. “We shall go with you.”

  Nuraya resisted the urge to stomp her feet. “Fine. But then,” she raised a finger at Kafayos, “keep your young one on a leash!” Kafayos grunted, uncrossing his arms, then took a menacing step forward.

  “Kafayos bin Qiyas,” Mara said softly, and the djinn froze. Muttering to himself, Kafayos sauntered ahead into the dense bush by himself.

  She cringed at his heavy tread, twigs snapping, fallen branches breaking under his weight, the noise enough to wake a corpse. The cursed djinn obviously never had to sneak onto someone. She rushed to get ahead of him. If there was danger ahead as she feared, the least she could do was to raise the warning. Her heart beating hard, she overtook Kafayos trying to free his robe from brambles
he’d gotten himself caught in. Suited him just fine. Watching her steps carefully—as much as she could in the dark—she continued toward the voices ahead.

  Another ten yards and she could see the campfire through the bush, a dozen figures sitting around it. All men, as best as she could tell. A voice rose and fell, and the others laughed uproariously, the sounds thunderous in the otherwise quiet of the night. She frowned. Either this group was too careless to bother setting up perimeter guard, or too powerful to bother otherwise.

  Magi? Inquisitors? Some elite Zakhanan battalion? Worse, could they be Afrasiab’s minions sent to look for her?

  Nuraya pressed her lips together. She had volunteered to step out ahead and investigate, but she’d been hasty. If she were to venture out and meet them, there would be no way to keeping her identity hidden. Her eyes and carriage would give her away the moment they saw her.

  Recklessness was a vice, she knew. She should have turned around and walked away. But truth be told, she didn’t really care anymore. She’d had enough of running about like a scared kitten. Defeated, wounded, she was still a lioness who didn’t shy away from conflict. The stone shifted under her peshwaz as she peered ahead. Dimly, she wondered what its significance was. Maybe Mara would know. She decided to ask him, if the right opportunity presented itself, and Kafayos wasn’t in earshot.

  The twelve figures were definitely men as she had guessed. Older men, their beards patchy and long, cast in gold by the roaring flames. All but one of them wore helmets of a design she couldn't identify from the distance.

  They spoke in Nirdu though. That much, at least, was a relief. Neither the Zakhanan nor Reratish soldiers would be using the common tongue of Istan.

  Twigs snapped behind her as Kafayos joined her. Nuraya clenched her fist, refusing to look his way. Mara and Yahni were a step behind, joining them an instant later, a lot quieter than Kafayos had been.

  “We heard you!” a voice rang out from fire. The speaker wore a saffron turban, his white beard grazing his knees as he sat cross-legged. He waved his arm. “Come join us for some stew.”

  Nuraya was shaking her head as Mara stepped out into the clearing, followed by the other djinn. She glared at them. For all the time the djinn had spent in the human world, they certainly hadn’t learned basics like not trusting too quickly.

  “You too,” the speaker called out once more, his face shrouded in darkness but still turned toward her. “Heard you a mile away.”

  A mile away? Her breath caught. The man had to be a magus, one with an unnatural ability for hearing, or somehow able to detect vibrations on earth. That would explain the casual ease with which they’d been waiting for them.

  “She could’ve been quieter,” she heard Kafayos grumble, the voice carrying easily over the crackle of fire.

  Seething, out of options, Nuraya emerged from the bushes, but made no effort to go any further. If this was a trap and these men meant her harm, any head start she could get on them would be good. Mentally, she reminded herself of the trees they had latched their horses on to. If she was lucky, these men were travelers and didn't know the terrain any better. If she let her horse loose, there was every chance she could lose them in the darkness.

  And every chance of falling off the saddle and breaking her neck.

  “Do not fear Dullah, servant of the great saint Edin,” said the speaker, his voice jovial, waving his hand over to her again, the accent a strange mix of Nirdu and classical Gharsi. “All are welcome at this fire. Men. Women. Royalty. Djinn.”

  Mara was the first one to approach them. The soldiers scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale, the eyes pinched with fear. They might have been laughing just a little while ago, but now the memory seemed false. Only Dullah continued to smile.

  “Sit, brother. It’s not every day we get to meet the likes of you.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Mara agreed easily, sitting down on all fours in Dullah’s manner. Yahni and Kafayos settled down on Mara’s either side, leaving a spot between them and Dullah for her.

  She approached warily, wishing more than ever she had a better weapon than the rusty old dagger they had found by the roadside. Then again, even if she had one of the scimitars used by the Knight’s Body, her chances of cutting down twelve able-bodied soldiers were slim.

  Not to mention dealing with the magus.

  “What’s your ability? Your magical well?” she asked, coming to a stop three paces from the man who had called himself Dullah.

  “Ability?” He chuckled, running his fingers through the beard. “Don’t exalt me by ascribing to me what I do not have. Who am I? A humble servant of the great saint.”

  “Who is this saint?” she demanded, her heart thudding in her chest.

  “Nuraya, it’s alright,” Mara said, surprising her. He pointed at the spare spot. “Sit down. If they meant us harm, they’ve had every opportunity to do so.”

  A murmur had broken out at her name though, the soldiers gaping at her, pointing their fingers. None rose to challenge her though, which was a good thing. For the moment.

  Grumbling, Nuraya dropped to her knees, her body coiled with tension for the first sign of danger. The men had been drinking, the stench strong around the fire. She spied dark stew set to the side.

  “Funny how the wheel of time turns, eh?” said Dullah. “One day, the humble servant turns the commoner away from royalty, and the next day, royalty from the commoner.”

  Nuraya cocked her head to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nuraya Istan, daughter of the—” one of the soldiers opposite her murmured to his companion.

  “Brother Xasad,” said Dullah, snapping his fingers at the soldier. “It might be your fire where you welcomed me with open arms, but wouldn't it be polite to extend the same courtesy to our newly joined friends as well?”

  “Aye, Brother Dullah,” the soldier said, his voice faltering.

  Nuraya exhaled, forcing her heartbeat to calm down. Dullah had been nothing but courteous so far. He had denied being a magus, but there was no denying the hidden strength behind his words. Here was a man who knew what he was capable of and felt no need for gaudy markers of power.

  A man in Abba’s mold.

  “Stew?” Dullah asked.

  “No!” Nuraya replied before either of the djinn could say anything. “We are on our way to the capital. Can you share knowledge of the path ahead?”

  “The path ahead is one that comes around,” said Dullah cryptically. He smiled, the yellow teeth glinting under the firelight. “What you seek ahead can be found behind.”

  A sense of terrible wrongness overcame her. She had to flee, put as much distance as she could between her and this man. Nuraya turned her eyes toward Mara. If he was worried and harbored the same fears as hers, he gave no overt indication of that.

  “Have you ever pondered the darkness?” Dullah said, turning his face to Mara.

  The djinn sat very still, his shadow unmoving behind him, frozen in place. “Not as well as you must have.”

  “Many consider it an emptiness, a nothingness.” Dullah cackled. “They couldn’t be more wrong.” He leaned forward, whispered conspiratorially, “The greatest siphsalar fights a battle by having his enemies fight it for him. He sits back, letting the night wash over him, using it as his instrument.”

  “Hmm,” replied Mara thoughtfully.

  Dullah laughed again. “Oh, how I long for the pot of honey lying untouched, free for my taking.” His eyes hardened. “And yours!”

  Nuraya scratched her neck. Dullah’s eyes followed the movement of her fingers, straying down to her chest. No, not the chest. The stone she had secreted out from Afrasiab’s castle.

  Run! The voice in her mind screamed at her.

  “I’m afraid we must really be on our way,” she said, rising in one smooth motion, her skin crawling. “The night is dark and the road ahead long. We must really see to the horses and get moving.”

  “Daughter of the Keepe
r, watch what you do. Power comes in various forms and guises,” Dullah said, seemingly unperturbed by her impatience. “Power begets power, one form giving into another, assimilating and changing into something larger, grander. But grander isn’t always the right path.”

  “Indeed…” Mara agreed, clambering onto his feet as well. “Truer words were never spoken.”

  “Watch your step,” Dullah said, his eyes trailing to her chest again. “A path might give early release by birthing new challenges. The easy path,” he shook his head, hidden bells in his thick locks ringing, “is often not the easiest path.”

  Nuraya turned her back and began marching toward their horses. Dullah had to have been a magus, one who knew what she carried on her person. Had he been any other person, she might have asked for his help, but the man was obviously half-mad.

  “Often not the easiest path!” Dullah called out once more, his words strong and loud, reverberating against her chest, ringing out in the night.

  She increased her pace.

  Chapter 25

  Shoki

  Shoki spurred the horse and broke into a gallop. The ground was wet, mushy from rain the night before, but he could still hear the clacking of hooves around him, the snort of horses, branches breaking underneath.

  “By the gods!” he swore. Despite his express commands to be left alone, Camsh had still sent men to guard him. He’d appreciated his help at the meeting with the delegations, but that didn’t give Camsh the latitude to defy him.

  Funny how he, one who’d thought himself of humble birth, expected to lord over sons of viziers.

  Shoki scoffed.

  Wind whipped against his face, the eye patch pressing painfully against his skin, but Shoki didn't care. He needed to get away for a bit. For a youth brought up in the crowded streets of Algaria, never alone or still for too long, the changing world had brought about an appreciation for peace and quiet. Yet another thing that had changed about him that he continued to find hard to believe.