by Fuad Baloch
Ruma watched him for a long breath. “Very well. Take charge of your men and head towards your destination.”
“May Alf guard us all,” said Gareeb, raising his right hand in salutation, the one he’d rather have used for painting than wielding a sword. Then, he turned around, and began trotting towards the contingent to the left, the chariots still drawing awed looks from the soldiers.
Ruma watched him for a long breath, Restam, Nodin, and Yenita not saying a word either.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “We’re going to ride east.”
“East?” asked General Nodin. “But that’s towards Irtiza.”
“Yasmeen has already defeated the Vanico forces there,” said Yenita, sounding just as puzzled.
Ruma narrowed her eyes. “I remember the map well. Let’s go!”
Sixteen
Ties that Bind All
An unexpected chill crept up Ruma’s spine and she pulled away from the crude map sprawled over the table. She looked around. Just herself and her councillors in the oasis seven days’ ride from Dilli, their table shaded by palm trees, the gentle morning breeze caressing her cheeks. Well, all but Gareeb, who led the mission she’d assigned him. General Restam scowled at her but said nothing, the other members of her council too occupied with the map to notice anything untoward.
She turned her gaze towards the map. General Restam was thumping the table, flecks of his spit landing on the city of Irtiza. Ruma exhaled. They weren’t really going there. Little did her generals know she was going to order them to circle the holy city, then head south, leading a trail for the enemy to hunt her, all the while drawing attention away from Gareeb moving at the speed of a snail. Before they’d get close, she’d spring her trap, unveil the traitor, then set the wheels in motion to end this farce once and for all.
Yasmeen had been anticipating her movements. About time Ruma returned the favour. If she was right, the Traditionalists wouldn't wait until they had erased all Vanico presence from the peninsula. That was what she was counting on, the one variable upon which her whole plan hinged. Things were about to get messy, real fast. A welcome change after all the waiting she’d had to suffer.
“Give up this world,” whispered the First. “Let it rot. The Shard awaits…”
Ruma blinked. “You live?” Her heartbeat picked up. “Now you speak?”
“Lady?” asked General Restam, his frown deepening. “Was it something I said?”
“Not you,” snapped Ruma, then pointed at the map. “Keep talking.”
General Nodin exchanged a glance with General Restam, then bent at the table again, raising his gloved hand. “Obviously, we know Yasmeen took both Salodia and Irtiza a while ago. What’s interesting is that she has not based herself in either of the cities, instead leaving men behind she trusts as governors.” He hesitated. “Considering the local populace is bound to support her over any… aggressor, she may not have left many soldiers, but they still number more than us.”
Her thoughts rattled, Ruma shook her head. “Did we hear back from Popoan or the other sects?” Yenita stirred, her worried glance meeting Qaisan.
The scout general cleared his throat, twirled his moustache. “My scouts haven’t yet returned. And when they do, we must prepare ourselves for the possibility Blessed Dadua’s followers wouldn’t support us over the Traditionalists.”
Yenita shook her head. “Why? Surely, they know that with the immense power we have now, we can smash through any obstacle Yasmeen and her dogs set in our way.”
Qaisan shrugged. “Who knows what they’ve heard? The fog of war makes it hard to sift truth from the untruths.”
“True,” said Ruma. Even as Yenita grimaced, shaking her head, Ruma held her breath, waiting to see if the First would speak to her again. Six months the bastard had remained quiet, until now. Why? She stepped away, not caring for the looks she drew from her councillors. “Hasn’t your fracking Shard collapsed already?” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Time works differently for me than you,” the First wheezed. “But what has been imminent for me… will happen soon even by your measurement.”
Ruma forced a chuckle. “Don’t expect me to trust you!”
The Pithrean didn't respond. Ruma waited for a bit, her councillors continuing to talk over each other, all but Brother Hadyan, whose lips moved silently, his eyes shut. She might have set General Restam as the titular leader of her army, but that hadn’t done much to quieten either General Nodin or Yenita. Ruma trembled. What was the Pithrean playing at, dangling this carrot, then threatening to take it away? One thing even she couldn't deny, though: the First sounded and felt weaker. A dying man talking from his deathbed.
General Nodin thumped the map, jolting Ruma out of her thoughts. “My scouts confirm Yasmeen is marching towards Mukkur.”
Ruma felt her heartbeat quicken. It had started. “Mukkur? Isn’t that the last major Vanico empire outpost in the peninsula?”
“Aye,” confirmed General Restam.
“She grows too bold,” said Yenita. She stretched her arms, her leather vest straining against her chest as she looked up at the sky. “She thinks herself the mighty eagle soaring high, but the arrow will find her unaware.”
“Hmm,” grunted Ruma. “We still have to fire that arrow.”
“The Vanico forces are demoralised,” continued General Restam. “After her feint at their previous battle, she won Salodia and Irtiza in quick succession. Her chances of prevailing over them again are extremely high.”
“Alf tests the believers’ resolve,” declared Brother Hadyan, glaring at them one by one. “But we cannot stray from the straight and narrow path. I saw that in my vision last night. We must follow the directions He gives us.”
“How can Alf support someone as vile and evil as Yasmeen, huh?” demanded Yenita, her voice high, angry. “That’s just not right. Something even I can see. The entire peninsula knows she’s an agent of the Charlatan. Why, then, does Alf keep on supporting her?”
“Alf makes use of all of us, girl,” the priest responded, the simple words making Ruma’s skin crawl. The first time she had met the priest was at Yasmeen’s campsite. He had snuck into Bubraza’s camp afterwards, claiming his vision in the Ghal Desert had convinced him that Yasmeen had strayed from the right path. Though they’d travelled together for a while now, united by a common goal, still they remained miles apart in ideology. Despite their differences, Ruma couldn't forget the debts she owed the priest, even when she accounted for how his teachings had caused the death of a priest at her hand.
“I am no girl,” growled Yenita. Ruma smiled, feeling a little of her tension dissipate at the fire in her voice. “If you do have a way of getting the Creator to hear your words, why don’t you ask him to smite that cursed woman and save us all the hassle?” When Brother Hadyan opened his mouth to argue, she raised her hand. “If you’re going to make excuses, don’t bother!”
General Nodin grinned, the short, white hairs of his beard shining silver in the strengthening sunlight. Brother Hadyan shrugged. “Alf helps whom He wills.”
“Currently, we’re still headed for the holy city. We could instead turn for the crossroads of Bhalpur,” said General Restam carefully, pausing as if to ensure he had their full attention. “From there, roads lead to all four directions. Though, we’ll have to be certain. Once we pick a direction, we’d be in Traditionalist territory, without our cannons or allies to call on.”
“I agree,” said General Nodin nodding. “Bhalpur gives us more choices than marching straight to Irtiza.”
“Only Alf is the originator and fulfiller of all choices,” said Brother Hadyan. Yenita and General Nodin exchanged a glance, neither replying to the priest.
Ruma tightened her fists. She had managed to keep her plans to herself so far, but her generals were right. The time was drawing near to spring her trap. She turned to look at the map, her eyes settling on Ujaina, the breadbasket of the peninsula, north-west from their current loc
ation. She had choices: circle around Irtiza and draw attention that way, head for Bhalpur, or turn north and storm Ujaina.
Thoughts raced through her mind. A confusing jumble. When she had set out from Dilli, she had been apprehensive, but at least had the comfort of having the semblance of a plan. A few days of riding had replaced that confidence with dread. Her eyes kept drifting towards Ujaina. Attacking that would draw the Traditionalists like iron filings to the magnet. And by the time they arrived to meet her, she’d be long gone. Then would be her moment to snap the trap shut, before heading on to her final destination.
Her councillors were watching her. General Restam had crossed his arms over his chest, his forehead slick with sweat. The mercenary general kept shaking his head, his eyes darting from her to the map. Even Brother Hadyan and Qaisan watched her silently. Yenita had a sullen expression on her face. Ruma exhaled, once more regretting the night she had bared her secret to the younger girl. It’s done, she told herself.
Brother Hadyan gasped. General Nodin’s head shot up, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked past her shoulder.
A chill creeping down her spine, Ruma turned.
Dust swirled in the distance. Scouts of the Lady’s Light rushed towards the oncoming riders. Her two generals were shouting at their officers to tell the men to form up in case an enemy force had arrived. Brother Hadyan was chanting loudly, praying to Alf to give His blessings to the cause he’d been assigned.
“Our men,” grunted Qaisan, walking up to her. He squinted, then nodded again. “Gareeb’s.”
“How can you tell?” asked Yenita.
“If he says so, just believe it,” said General Restam, some of the tension leaking from his face. “Never been wrong once.” Qaisan muttered something under his breath, still glaring at the oncoming riders.
Ruma crossed her arms over her chest. The premonition that something was wrong grew within her, almost set her teeth chattering. Reflexively, she looked up, half expecting vultures flying overhead. Dread pressed in, her thoughts conjuring the image of Yeth she had seen around the Shard all those months ago, something that had kept her up many a night since then. Again, she wondered what the Pithrean was up to.
Her scouts caught up with the four riders who carried no flags. A sign they might have had to rush. Ruma bit her lip, then started for her horse grazing by a palm tree.
“I’ll come with you,” said General Restam, joining her. Together, they mounted in silence. Without waiting for others to saddle up, Ruma spurred her horse and galloped towards the group. If Qaisan was right and these were Gareeb’s men, why hadn’t they been let through yet?
As she drew closer, wind whipping against her face and veil, she realised why.
All four riders’ chain mail were stained brown with dried blood. Their leader, a middle-aged man, his bald pate shining under the sun, spotted her first. He raised his right fist in the air, then bowed his head. “Alf be praised, Lady of the Sands!”
“Who are you?” Ruma asked, pulling up in front. A moment later, Qaisan and General Nodin were there as well, flanking the four riders. Yenita and General Restam joined her on either side.
“Jajan of Luxor, Lady—”
“He’s one of my men,” said Qaisan. “I appointed him myself to lead the scouts under Gareeb.”
“What news do you bear?” Ruma asked, her voice dropping to a cold whisper.
Jajan hesitated, his eyes dropping. “Grim news, Lady. We were attacked three nights ago.” Yenita gasped. “After the bastards had gutted our animals the last time, we’d doubled the scouts, ensuring no one could get through to either the cannons or the animals.” He paused, shaking his head, as if searching for appropriate words. “They were a small group. A dozen or so at most. They… they slipped through to our command tents under the cover of night.”
“Gareeb,” whispered Ruma, feeling strength drain from her limbs. He was naive, a man not suited for his world, one with a good, solid heart. He hadn’t deserved this.
Jajan forced a chuckle. “Their cursed Charlatan misled them, though. Instead of finding Gareeb Mertan’s tent, they entered the one beside it.”
Even as relief flooded in, Ruma arched an eyebrow. “How many did they kill?”
“None, Lady.” Jajan thumped his chest. “We were onto them like lightning, like—”
“Talk less, Jajan,” cut in Qaisan.
The scout nodded tersely. “They made off with a captive. We would have pursued them immediately, but fearing a trick, we returned to ensure it wasn’t a trap.”
“Who?” asked Ruma. “Who did they take?”
The scout’s eyes flickered up for the barest of seconds. “Sivan Kapuri.”
“No,” came Yenita’s muffled gasp. “You’re lying.”
“It was his tent, Mzi,” said Jajan, raising a placating hand. “We saw no blood in the morning, though. They took him, but from all we could see, he wasn't harmed one bit.”
Yenita smacked her hands together. “You craven lot let those dogs take away my brother?”
“We didn’t have—”
Yenita kicked her horse towards Jajan, then leaning forward, slapped him on the cheek with a force that set the air ringing. She raised her hand again, shouting incoherently.
“Stop!” cried Ruma. “It’s not his fault.”
“No?” challenged Yenita, turning in her saddle. “Then whose?”
Ruma matched the younger girl’s glare evenly, neither of the two looking away. A vein throbbed in Yenita’s forehead, her nostrils flaring, her fingers twitching. From the corner of her eye, Ruma noticed Qaisan moving towards Yenita, his arm dropping dangerously low. Ruma nodded at Yenita. “I know what you must be feeling. It can’t be easy—”
“You have no idea what I’m feeling!” she shouted.
General Restam moved his horse between them, both hands held high. “This is not the time for discord between us.”
“Sivan needs me,” said Yenita, her voice quivering, her features crumpling all of a sudden. “The stupid donkey-brained idiot! Even if he’d had a chance to run away, he wouldn't even have tried.”
Ruma bit her tongue. She had seen him in captivity before and found it impossible to argue otherwise. The repercussions of the attack ran through her mind. “So, they knew where our forces were headed.” She exhaled, slowly nodding to herself. This, then, was the proof the traitor was still in her midst. Not that it had done much harm. Gareeb would soon be changing his direction, heading where none in her council would have guessed. She held up a finger. “They attacked us at night, took away… one of us, and there were no other casualties?”
“No, Lady,” said Jajan.
“The cannons are unharmed?”
“Aye. The force is marching on the double just as you ordered.”
Ruma dropped her chin, her fingers crushing the reins. She had expected an attack like that, had warned Gareeb to anticipate it. The cannons and the animals would have been well-guarded. A shame none of the attackers were captured, though it didn't change things much. Her plan remained in motion. Besides, even if they would have managed to find Gareeb’s tent, they’d have found it empty per her instructions to him. Maybe it was luck they’d gotten confused and entered the wrong tent.
Another thing was obvious. Ruma Nuway and her Lady’s Light were attracting attention. The Traditionalists under Yasmeen were no longer willing to turn a blind eye to her. All the more reason for her to speed up things here, draw fire towards her.
She turned her horse.
“They sent a message the next day,” said Jajan, his voice meeker than before. “One delivered by a local nomad they gave four sheep as compensation.”
Ruma closed her eyes. “What was it?”
“It commanded us to walk away from the devils’ catapults or they would kill the captive.”
She heard Yenita gasp behind her.
“I’ll find the whoresons and tear them limb from limb myself,” hissed Yenita.
A great wave of
wrongness enveloping her, Ruma spurred her horse and headed for her command tent. Whoever had been leaking information about her was better at it than she liked. It was one thing passing on the composition of the enemy’s strength, but quite another to also chart out the complex network of loyalties that held a group together. The attack wasn’t against her animals or her weaponry, but one aimed at striking a wedge between her councillors. “Yasmeen, you bitch!”
Behind her, Yenita was still bellowing, shouting questions, flinging accusations.
“Hold up!” came a shout behind her.
Ruma pulled on her reins, slowing down to a trot. “Have you come to console me, Priest?”
Brother Hadyan’s face was hard as stone, his eyes dark, his lips pursed. “Alf spoke to me last night. He has a plan for us. One we must follow if we are to succeed.”
“If he has any clever tactics to offer, I’m all ears.”
“He commands us to wait. To do nothing until the holy month of Opar arrives.”
Ruma arched an eyebrow, turning towards the priest. “Wait another six months? Why in the fracking hell would we do that?”
Brother Hadyan shrugged. “Alf commands. We obey.”
Ruma chuckled, not sure if she felt amused or angered. “If only it was that easy, Hadyan. Every fibre of my body screams the end is coming.”
“But—”
“No,” Ruma said. “We ride. We never stop.”
Seventeen
Severance
Men fought ahead. Kabbad, this time, after another long, arduous day of riding. Better they did so with their limbs than steel, though. Less of a mess to clean up afterwards that way.
Ruma bit the insides of her cheek, barely seeing the kabbad game. She’d expected her plans to go wrong from the beginning. After all, who could claim to anticipate the future without mistake? But the first wound had come quicker than she had expected, a harbinger of more sacrifices to come.
A day had passed but still the scouts’ news troubled her. It was one thing expecting losses, but quite another to prepare for the crippling doubt that followed. A part of her wanted to retreat, to give it all up just like the Pithrean demanded. Another wanted her to take her time, analyse options over and over left to her, to redraw her plans, to take her time.
