The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  Shoki exhaled, feeling strength draining from his limbs.

  “Sit down, Inquisitor,” Camsh said, his words carrying a bite to them now. “The two ears sit over the slippery tongue for a reason. Let them do their job.”

  “Join me,” Shoki blurted, suddenly feeling the urge to piss. “Help me turn the tide back.” He turned around, raising a hand east, toward Sehlour, the place where if he was lucky, he might still be able to find Nuraya. “Afrasiab is plotting in Sehlour, surrounded by his ghouls. We cannot afford to find out what his plans are.” He grew quiet for a breath. “You all want different things from me. That’s why you’re here. Before I promise you anything, show me the extent of your support by lending me a hand against the threat in Sehlour.”

  “Sehlour is in Zakhanan,” someone objected. “Let the blasted Zakhanan take care of their own backyard.”

  “Sehlour is a human city,” Shoki said.

  “And this so-called blight is deep in Kippur, past the Zakhanan homeland,” repeated the irritating voice. “How would we ever get there in the first place?”

  “By allying ourselves with the Zakhanan,” Shoki said.

  Murmurs rose around him. Chahar Rahane gasped. “Rising Sun, surely you jest!”

  Shoki shook his head. He’d lost them all. Even as he continued to see the threat gather strength, none of these seemed inclined to share his fears.

  He had to pee. Shoki shifted his weight. The urge didn't diminish. “Camsh,” he said. “I’ve said my bit.”

  He got up abruptly. Voices called out to him. He started marching for the command tent. No good wasting energy on pitching the best words. All he needed were men and women who would fight beside him.

  Chapter 31

  Kafayos

  Still seething from humiliation, Kafayos clenched his fists so tight over the reins that for a moment he thought the bones would crush into each other.

  “Grrrr!” He punched his right thigh, then clamped his jaw shut when pain shot through his body. Pain, a human curse, afflicting a djinn! The horse neighed as if aware of what he was going through, continuing to canter east toward the castle they had found the blasted girl in. Three days he had ridden now, only stopping to let the damned beast rest and recover its strength and allow the mortal frame he was ensconced in to deal with its own limitations as well.

  Of course, he shouldn't have had to deal with this at all. He was Kafayos bin Qiyas, resident of the proud city of Nainwa, member of the noble race of djinn, unconstrained by the drudgery that all humans had to endure.

  But he couldn't return to his form. Not yet, anyway. Azar’s words played in his mind. The clan leader had believed the human magus still in the castle even though they hadn't been able to find him. Had he used the princess as his instrument?

  He would find out. “By Rolomon, I will,” he muttered, slapping the horse’s neck with an open palm to urge it on.

  Kafayos peered ahead. Was that a woman riding like wind through the trees to her left? Surely, that wasn’t possible. Not in these swamps and muddy fields. Her white hair streamed behind her, as she weaved in and out of the trees for a breath, before disappearing for good. He shook his head clear. What did it matter who that woman was, anyway? He had a long road ahead of him still. Another few hours before the sun set for one more day. Not that it posed any challenge to him. He was Kafayos, and he—

  A human girl had humiliated him!

  Once more, the terrible, shameful memory played in his mind. Nuraya had resisted his attempts to give herself up to the inquisitors—an act of mercy from his perspective—and then she had attacked him. Attacked him with some well of jadu she’d found after mixing an artifact with blood.

  Blood! A blood magic ritual performed by a human girl!

  Kafayos gritted his teeth, shaking his head furiously, his long black locks flowing behind him. He had known the girl would be trouble, more so than an ordinary human. He’d suggested parting company from her the moment they’d come upon her in Afrasiab’s castle, hadn’t he? A part of him had always known her to be the magus’s pawn. And what had Azar argued instead? Care and compassion. For a human! Kafayos had tried putting up with a human before in Nainwa as well. That hadn’t worked out either.

  Why did the clan leader not listen to him?

  His skin crawled, recalling how she had… touched his well. Kafayos curled his fingers once more. Not only had she somehow worked her way through to his well, the very center of his being, but for a moment, she had squeezed it, sucking it out of him.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been petrified in that moment. More afraid than he had ever been in his long, eventful life. A human had been at the edge of snuffing out his existence as a magus.

  His eyes widened.

  Had she…? No! That can’t be right. He recalled tales recorded in their annals. The girl had acquired a well of jadu, of magic, but the way she’d fought him had reminded him of how an inquisitor might have ensnared a magus. How was that possible?

  The troubling thought roiled within him. Ignoring it, he lifted his chin eastward. Azar had mentioned currents running under currents in the human world. That meant there was something in the castle they had missed. Why did the clan leader disagree with his assessment to return there then?

  Thoughts, more troubled by the second, swarmed his mind. Since forever, magi and inquisitors had stood against each other. Counterbalances set up by the Unseen God and his messenger to keep each other in check. If the girl had indeed discovered a magical well through the foolish ritual she’d carried out, how had she ended up with the ability to take away jadu like an inquisitor?

  He licked his lips. Perhaps he should turn around, seek Azar and Yahni once more. He’d found the old clan leader easily enough from his scent earlier on—a boon awarded through his well’s control over light and scents within. It wouldn't be that hard to do it again. He may not have parted amicably from them once they’d refused to either pursue Nuraya or return to Nainwa or investigate the castle, but that was alright. He would prove them all wrong. Azar could continue talking about what he feared and whatnot, but it would be Kafayos bin Qiyas who would get the answers his people needed.

  Anger built up within him, edging out shame for a bit. He bristled with the indignity of it all. He had offered both djinn the benefit of his wisdom a thousand times, warning them against trusting the humans. And what had he received in turn? Scorn. Ridicule.

  None of that mattered. It was his time to make a difference, away from the crippling words of the clan leader.

  Through the thick canopy of trees, he spied the faint outlines of the Sehlour castle emerge. Kafayos grinned. He might not have slipped back to his form yet—a promise he’d made to Azar, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the threat of inquisitors or the magus princess sniffing him out—but he still had other ways of getting through troubling situations.

  Kafayos pulled on his reins. The horse snorted, shaking its head sideways, then came to a stop. He dismounted, pulling out the sword from the sheath buckled to the beast’s side. He’d never understood why his old djinn masters had insisted on teaching him how to wield the human weapon when he had been young, but now that he was in the human world, and had possession of one of their weapons, he’d be damned if he didn't use it.

  The blade was clean, reflecting the weak sunlight back into his eyes when he leaned in to test the sharpness of its edge. Like Buzdar, gray clouds liked the Eastern Realm just as much. The blade was sharp enough to draw blood. Shaking his head in disgust at the redness of the human body, he sucked on his thumb.

  Then, gripping the hilt in his left hand, he advanced toward the castle. The last time he had been here, the three djinn had taken on their true forms, smashing their way through the three dozen or so ghouls that had dared oppose their entry.

  He could take the same route once more, trusting his form of fire and ash to both withstand attacks, and gift him physical strength to overwhelm the opposing numbers. But there wa
s a better way.

  Kafayos stopped just before the dense trees came to an abrupt end around the castle. He peered out and couldn't stop himself from gasping. Hundreds—no, thousands—of ghouls roamed outside the castle walls. Most of them carried a weapon of some sort—swords, maces, axes, lances—lumbering about purposelessly, speaking in their mindless guttural gibberish. A group of them wore leather cloaks so grimy they’d lost all color. He’d seen the cloak design before. Was it something the mercenaries from Fojoro had been wearing in Buzdar?

  Were these ghouls… men, once upon a time?

  His mind made another discovery then. Once thoughts grew troubled and settled in, they birthed more of themselves, refusing to cease. Kafayos tried forcing his breath to slow down. Failed. If men had somehow been turned into these corrupt forms, could the same effect take over the djinn as well?

  For the second time in less than a week, Kafayos felt the prickle of fear on his skin. Not only was he seeing the ghouls properly this time, their sheer numbers seemed to laugh at his plans of slipping through them. Maybe Azar was right, and the castle did hold more secrets than they had discovered. Maybe, it wasn’t just plain coincidence that Nuraya had escaped her imprisonment with an artifact that allowed her to become… well, what she had become.

  He could turn away, of course. There would be no need to admit that the next time he saw Azar or Yahni.

  But no, alas, that wasn’t possible. Kafayos bin Qiyas never turned away from a challenge, never allowed fear to take hold of him. He was a djinn and he would, by the grace of Rolomon, overcome all obstacles in his way.

  He scowled, thumbing the hilt idly. The ghouls were far too many. Had both Azar and Yahni accompanied him here, all three of them together wouldn’t have been assured of victory. The ghouls nearest him raised a guttural wail, the ululating cry floating through air as if bits of ash scattering to the winds. Once more, fear crawled under his human skin.

  He made another startling discovery. Apart from the ghouls and himself, the surrounding trees were quiet. The human world was full of noise and bugs and repulsive animals, but he couldn't remember seeing any other living thing for miles coming up to the castle.

  Before the rising terror would sap his resolve, Kafayos closed his eyes, and beckoned his well.

  The world shifted, the shapes, colors, and forms turning into blobs of gray and black, the only differentiation between the various objects the amount of light they reflected. Kafayos looked down at his own body. It glowed, practically announcing his presence to anyone with sight. He concentrated on the folds of his clothing shrouded in darkness.

  Grow! he commanded. The light falling on his clothes dimmed, the shadows stretching. He repeated the command, then nodded as the shadows expanded, cloaking him like a shower of ashes.

  He stepped out into the clearing, the sword hilt gripped tight in one hand. Blood rushed through his veins, a feeling he’d not felt before in his real form, but one that he now relished for the high it gave him, sharpening his senses whilst simultaneously dulling fear. Now, he knew where this recklessness came from in the humans he’d met.

  He raised his sword when he came upon the first set of ghouls. He was invisible, impossible for the beasts to see. He could have slipped through them easily. But where was the joy in that? These ghouls were servants of the magus who had birthed Nuraya who had in turn humiliated him. Vanquishing them would be one small step in righting the wrongs committed against him.

  He swung the sword. The ghouls were tough clumps of dried shit—another human metaphor he felt apt—mountains of sinew and muscle despite the flaking skin of a dozen hues when compared to humans, but they stood no chance under his onslaught. In the same arc, he decapitated two of them, his sword getting lodged in the third’s neck.

  “Die, you vile beings,” he declared, then, pulling out the sword, kicked the teetering ghoul with his boot. It crumbled to the ground. Kafayos smashed its face with his other boot. Bones crunched underneath, yellow pus and black blood squelching sideways, the red eye bursting open.

  If the other ghouls saw what had happened to their three fellows, they seemed totally unperturbed. Like mountains standing aloof in Nainwa, they continued to drone in their ungodly tongue, lumbering around the castle as if waiting for an enemy to appear that was already within their ranks.

  Again and again, Kafayos swung the sword, setting ghouls’ heads flying. When he finally stopped to take a breath, unaware of how long he’d been at it, he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that something was wrong. What? He shook his head, surveyed the dead bodies. No, they still remained dead, finally delivered from whatever repugnant state of being they’d been imprisoned in, the other ghouls continuing to meander about aimlessly.

  Then, his mind realized what was wrong.

  He had killed a good two dozen of the ghouls without making a dent in their numbers. Instead of clearing the path ahead, as he should have by now, the number of ghouls blocking his way ahead was just as thick as it had been before he had stepped in.

  Then there were the half a dozen ghouls who weren’t wandering like the rest. Nor were they spouting gibberish. Instead, these six ghouls, monstrously tall and hulking like the rest, were sniffing the air, turning toward his direction, raising their hands as they shouted at the other ghouls.

  Shouting orders! As if… as if they were salars rounding up their troops.

  No! That wasn’t possible. All that he had heard about ghouls had painted them as mindless drones reanimated by blood magi of the past. A moving sea of swords, dumb as cold iron.

  This wasn’t right.

  More and more ghouls were turning toward him, swarming his way. They might not be able to see him, but before long, their sheer numbers meant they would crash into him, overwhelm him.

  “Never!” Kafayos shouted, springing into action. The bloodied sword became a whirlwind of silver as he swung it round and round, taking down any ghoul that approached him.

  He felled a score. Another score after that, all the while continuing to retreat under the press of numbers.

  Far too many. Far too tenacious. Guided too well by their salars who continued to push them toward him. He tried fighting his way through, carving and slicing and smashing open ghouls who dared enter his arc. No matter how much he swung his sword, how many ghouls he reduced to the ground, there were always more to take place of the fallen. Mountains of flesh and snarling mouths pressing in on him. A force of nature that didn't know how to stop.

  Kafayos shouted, then slipped into his real form without giving up his invisibility. Standing just as tall as the ghouls, he summoned the well of fire that all djinn possessed. The air singed around him, the ends of his smoking fingers catching fire. He clapped his palms together. A dozen fire balls boomed into existence, their searing heat just as strong as his rage at the ghouls and all those who had upended his comfortable life in Nainwa.

  He stepped back, then directed the fire toward the ghouls.

  The air filled with the revolting stench of burning skin and roasting meat. More than two score ghouls, their bodies mini infernos now, crumbled to the ground, even as more stepped on top of them, catching fire, but not stopping. Never stopping. Always moving forward.

  “No!” Kafayos howled as the ghoul salars shouted, their red eyes shining bright under the fires, directing their minions his way.

  He was Kafayos bin Qiyas, a wise, brave djinn of Nainwa. He wouldn't break.

  Except, he couldn't shirk the final realization his mind made.

  He was beaten.

  Again.

  He raised another shout of frustration, then turned around, and fled from the ghouls.

  Chapter 32

  Aboor

  “You should not have stopped me from meting out justice to the nizam’s soldiers,” Kadoon said, riding beside Aboor. “I was of half a mind to reject your order.”

  “Had you done that,” Aboor replied calmly, “you wouldn't have been riding beside me, no matter who your father i
s.”

  “You… you would have attacked a fellow inquisitor, after what the nizam did?”

  Aboor turned his eyes toward the young inquisitor. The two had bonded after the battle like most men did, but there was obviously still much left to be taught. “When given orders during a battle, you follow. As simple as that.”

  Kadoon muttered something under his breath but had the good sense to keep his voice low.

  Aboor allowed his mind to wander, letting his eyes take in the colorful fields around them. The other fifteen inquisitors and three magi who had survived the attack rode behind him, followed in turn by the coterie of dozen servants on mules manning what was left of their supply train.

  He fixed his gaze on the long, green stalks rustling in the wind to their left. What crop was that? Maize? Okra? Had his father been alive, he’d been aghast to see how much his son had forgotten the life of his ancestors.

  Aboor chuckled to himself. Had his father been alive, he’d have not recognized this world at all.

  “The Inquisitor army is not going to be constrained by your old-fashioned values, Sahib Inquisitor,” Kadoon said, the words jolting Aboor out of his thoughts. “When it is formed, and set out to carry its blessed mission, nothing will stop it from carrying out its duties. Not even men like you!”

  Aboor nodded. “I do fear that.” He waved his gauntleted fist. “Anyway, that’s still a long while away.”

  “Did you know three thousand men have already been recruited under twelve inquisitor siphsalars,” Kadoon reported proudly. “My respected father commands one of the largest battalions.”