Conqueror's Blood (Gunmetal Gods Book 2)

by Zamil Akhtar

  My part in this was at an end. I sat on the sandy ground as my vision cracked like a glass pane. It shattered, and I was back in the massive chest, buried beneath a pile of robes.

  Not an hour later, a rabble arrived at the Shrine of Saint Jamshid. Some men nursed burns and worse on their backs, likely the targets of gunfire as they ran for freedom. At least a hundred congregated amid the stone arches in the shrine’s square, loud and pleading with Khizr Khaz for help. How delightful to see Hadrith standing at the head.

  Khizr Khaz, Kato, Hadrith, and a dozen other viziers went inside the Order’s lodging and into an empty room with a grass-colored carpet. I followed.

  “Why is she here?” asked a thin-faced vizier, a man I remembered as responsible for shipping grain from one of the western provinces. If only he knew I’d just freed him.

  “You’re going to be discussing how to free the heir. He’s my son.”

  Hadrith leaned against the far wall, a wooden mug in his hands. We eyed each other — his mellow gaze didn’t see me as a threat. When I’d worried earlier that he was on to me, I was being rather presumptuous — he clearly had no inkling of my involvement in the intrigues he blamed on Kato.

  Kato stood on the opposite side with folded arms. “Are we going to free the heir with the ingrates responsible for the death of his beloved grandfather?”

  Hadrith chugged the mug and shook his head. “I was trying to save the Shah! If only you’d listened, Himyarite!”

  “You accused me!” Kato wagged his finger. “Accused me of consorting with a sorcerer to kill the Shah! And then you plotted my downfall!”

  “Then we were both played!” Hadrith approached Kato, head forward. “Don’t you see? The sorcerer blinded us to the real threat — Mansur and his henchman Pashang!”

  “I think your own avarice a better blinder!” Kato raised an open palm in Hadrith’s direction. “So who’s to say you’re not among them? And what real evidence have you that a sorcerer was involved?” He chuckled — how absurd it must’ve seemed to him. “Let’s not forget the testimony of Cyra’s own gholam minders. You met with her, in secret, more than once before she assassinated the Shah. When I asked you earlier what matters you discussed, your lips were sealed.” He gestured at all the viziers and Order men in the room. “Now that they’re flapping again, we await your truth.”

  “The truth is Cyra would never kill the Shah. She was as harmless as a feather fluttering in the wind. The sorcerer used her body!”

  The viziers seemed to heckle in unison. Of course, Hadrith’s story didn’t make sense to them. Good.

  While the viziers bickered among themselves, Khizr Khaz stood in silence near the window, gaze low as if in reflection. Whereas I’d once worried about what Hadrith knew, now everything pointed to Mansur and Pashang — they were traitors, after all. Nothing whatsoever pointed at me. I was interested to see how they would piece their different stories together, as if trying to repair two broken vases with each other’s pieces.

  “The Sylgiz had every reason to murder Tamaz.” Kato’s hard voice silenced the room. “Cyra could’ve been coaxed by her brother. Mansur is acting to seize an opportunity that you helped create!” Kato understood half the truth.

  “How convenient.” Hadrith crossed his arms and shook his head in utter disgust. “Is your vision too narrow to see the pattern on the carpet, Kato? We — each of us in this room — have been used like playthings by a much shrewder entity that is aiding Mansur’s power grab.” Hadrith understood the other half. But combining these half-truths somehow made a whole lie, one that served my purpose.

  “Entity!” Kato scoffed. “You’d have us believe Ahriyya himself schemes against us!”

  The two were about to butt heads when I pushed forward and stomped my foot. “If you’re with Kyars, then you’re on the same side. When he’s here, he’ll decide who to punish for which crimes. And if my son is hurt, that crime will be on everyone’s head!”

  Khizr Khaz stepped forward. “She’s right. We can bicker later about what has passed. Getting her son back and retaking the Sand Palace is all that matters.” He turned to Hadrith. “How many men can you muster?”

  Hadrith replied, “Hundreds of pashas owe me favors. They’ll answer my call, and so will their men-at-arms.”

  “You’ve gone from the banging of a pot to the strumming of a sitar,” Kato said, his gaze on Hadrith. “We need more men. I can’t spare too many gholam. That wall is vast, and if we leave even the sparsest gap, you can bet your jewels that Pashang will be crawling up it.”

  Pashang had enough riders to overwhelm the gholam, the Order, and whatever men-at-arms Hadrith could muster. If he entered the city, our hopes would turn to ash.

  An idea struck. “What if…” I hesitated — perhaps it was a foolish idea. “What if we ask the Archers of the Eye to man the wall?”

  Stares from the men in the room. Silence. Then came the shaking of heads and disdainful grunts.

  Kato chuckled. “In Himyar, they say ‘never trust a Labashite. He’ll shoot an arrow in your ass the moment you show him your back.’ I’m dutybound to that wall. I won’t give it to an order of heathens.”

  “The Seluqals trust them enough to relay their most vital messages,” I said. “They fulfill that role faithfully.”

  “Do they?” Kato scoffed. “The Archers have said nothing about Shah Kyars — no sightings or messages, despite that I was sending him messages daily, apprising him of every happening.”

  Perhaps Kyars didn’t want anyone knowing his whereabouts or day of arrival.

  “Did you send riders?” the thin-faced vizier whom I’d freed asked. “In addition?”

  Kato nodded. “Of course. But none have returned. Sometimes I fear we are being caged in this city…with a red-striped tiger.”

  Was Kyars preventing the riders from returning, too?

  Silence lingered as everyone digested their thoughts.

  Kato broke it again. “I determined a few possibilities regarding his arrival, based on his speed. Shah Kyars could have been here yesterday if traveling with a light escort atop Kashanese horses. But if bringing the army, he would arrive six days from now. And with the artillery he left with…two weeks.”

  Khizr Khaz sighed. “Six days may as well be six years with Mansur in control. Everything depends on us. If Kyars returns to a city fortified by the Jotrids, we’ll all be in the grave, and he’ll have to siege the city to retake it.”

  “Every reason not to fail,” I said. “Every reason to stay united, stay the course, and save my son.” Everyone looked to me. Hadrith’s hopeful smile, Kato’s assured gaze, and Khizr Khaz’s slight nod. Though I had the three most powerful men in the city as allies, it still felt as if it were all on me. “So, shall we plan, then?”

  Kato would hit the Sand Palace tonight with enough men to surround every gate, scale the walls, and eliminate Mansur’s household guard. As for Mansur, they’d take him prisoner, and Kyars would decide his fate. What would I do? Wait, of course. Wait within the chest of robes, where I could ensure my son’s safety.

  The Jotrids prickled my mind, though. Father had said Pashang was “acting under a cloud” that even he couldn’t “pierce” and that his actions were “not of this world.” Though everyone feared Pashang, I feared they didn’t fear him enough. We needed more men guarding the city wall while the gholam and Order retook the palace. So I sent an Order man to summon Abunaisaros, Grandmaster of the Archers of the Eye.

  He arrived just before sunset with three other archers and that red-haired girl whom I’d noticed earlier. Amid the madness, I’d forgotten about her and her unknown flavor of blood. Perhaps, if I played this right, I could hatch two eggs in one sitting.

  Alongside Kato, we sat at a wooden low table in the Order’s canteen, which had a stone floor and unadorned walls. Footsteps, water pouring, and clanging pots sounded from the nearby kitchen, which always seemed busy. It all smelled pleasantly of lentils and mint.

  Abu wore
a beard that kissed his navel when he walked; he was so tall he towered even when sitting. He made Hadrith look tame.

  The Order’s kitchen didn’t have rosewater, nor sherbet, nor any intoxicating beverages, so they served water. Safia, the red-haired girl, sipped her mug, then brought it down with a frown.

  “She’s squiring for me,” Abu said. “In exchange, I’m teaching her skills only known to the grandmasters of the Archers of the Eye.”

  I wondered how she’d secured that deal. Clearly, she wasn’t the shy, elusive girl she appeared to be. I’d have to learn more after this meeting.

  Kato kept his back straight, hands folded, and gaze on Abu. I wondered how acquainted they were; regardless, Kato’s prejudices would likely weigh heaviest.

  “I’ve only five minutes to spare,” Kato said after huffing a breath. “Convince me these Labashites are worth trusting with more than just paper.”

  Abu said, “The blood plague destroyed our land just as it did yours, brother. We both serve Alanya, now.”

  Kato snickered. “Right. How much are they paying you?”

  Abu snickered too. “How much are they paying you?”

  Both grumbled.

  “Listen,” I said, “my beloved Kyars expressed tremendous faith in the Archers.” He’d never mentioned them, but invoking the one man everyone treasured seemed a good idea. “He counted them among Alanya’s most loyal servants, just as his father did, and his father before him. Abu, will you help defend our walls from the Jotrids?”

  Water moistened his beard as he took a swig from his mug. “I’ve no hesitation. As you’re the mother of the heir to the throne, we’ll do whatever you ask. Besides, we cherish every opportunity to gain the people’s trust.”

  Kato grunted in disgust. “She could be the mother of Saint Chisti himself, but here in Alanya, mothers don’t give orders — not yet, at least. You’ll need my approval, and I’m yet to be convinced.”

  “Are slaves giving orders, now?” When Abu shrugged, his shoulders almost reached his ears.

  “Slaves have ruled many Seluqal lands,” Kato said. “They say the janissary Grand Vizier of Sirm commands more loyalty than their shah.”

  Abu replied, “Oh? And I heard their shah’s wife has him on strings. A fierce, fiery-haired woman who helped crush the Crucians.”

  “Concubine.” The almost-whisper came from the red-haired girl. “Not wife.”

  I’d not heard of her, but no matter. “A slave, a concubine,” I said. “Rather like me. But I’ve got no one on strings, and I’m not giving orders. It’s a proposal, one I believe would benefit all.” I turned to Kato. “Khagan Pashang outnumbers us ten to one. If you leave even a sliver of that wall undefended, he’ll take it from you. If you decide, here and now, to refuse the Archer’s help, then it’s on you if something happens. And I’ll make certain Kyars knows it.”

  Kato sighed. “And if these Ethosians,” he gestured at Abu, “betray us? Will I bear that on my back, too?”

  I shook my head. “I promise — if they do — I’ll tell Kyars it’s my fault, not yours.”

  “Fawning lovers don’t find faults,” Kato scoffed. “It’ll still be on my head, and you know it. Sometimes I wish I’d never sold myself to this palace.” He glanced at me. “You Seluqals are more trouble than you’re worth.”

  That was the first time I’d been called a Seluqal. I forced myself to take it in stride. “You sold yourself? Why would anyone choose to be a slave?” I’d chosen the same for the sake of my mission.

  Kato never talked about himself, so hesitated as he scratched his beard. “I was, for a time, a warrior in service to the Sultan of Himyar…the paltry scrub that remained for him to rule, after the blood plague poisoned most of the land. With so little cultivation and so many mouths to feed, the Sultan daily sent us to round up, enslave, and sell off entire tribes — men, women, and children.” He grinned at Abu. “All the while, we fended off attacks by your people over what little remained. Killed more Labashites than I have teeth.” So that was why he still had a Himyarite accent. He wasn’t enslaved at a tender age, like most gholam. “I…got tired of it all. Turned out, the blood plague wasn’t the true horror. What we did to each other in its aftermath was far worse. I wanted more than to be part of an endless cycle of blood and enslavement. So, one day, sick of it all, I joined a caravan of those I’d enslaved.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “And would you believe it — now here I sit, most powerful man in the greatest city in the world.”

  “We’re not so different,” Abu said, nodding as if impressed. “The Archers, too, wanted more. Alanya was our sworn enemy once, but who can deny its promises? Tell me, do you ever miss Himyar?”

  Kato shook his head and chuckled. “Not at all. I don’t look back. A waste of good faculties to hunger for what’s gone.”

  Abu smiled. “You must miss some things. The tangy, sweet syrup of the sappa nut. The sultry air of the Yam Sup Sea. Coffee beans roasted fresh from the still-hot stool of yellow-horned mountain goats.”

  That last one…a tad sickening. But Kato closed his eyes and breathed deep, as if sniffing that coffee. Then he smiled and shook his head. “Ah-ah-ah. Now you’re pulling at my strings.” Kato raised his finger at Abu. “I told you, I don’t look back. So let’s look forward — if the Jotrids enter the city, we’re all dead.”

  Abu cracked his knuckles. “Then the Archers of the Eye will make sure they don’t. We are the greatest defenders of walls the world has ever witnessed. Both our arrows and words are true and find their marks faster than any bullet.”

  “Your arrows better be better than your words.” Kato chuckled, then gulped his water. “By Lat, they better be a lot better.”

  “Is that an agreement?” I asked Kato.

  He banged his cup onto the table. “Time is tightening its noose. I’ve been forced to trust Hadrith, now I’m forced to trust a Labashite. But that rope — I feel it closing in, taut on my skin. I’m a dead man in a thousand scenarios and alive in only one. Let this be the one, then.” He held out his hand.

  Abu shook it and sealed the deal with a jovial grin. “You won’t regret it, my Himyarite friend.”

  After the meeting, I followed Safia into the shrine, which had been emptied and closed to the common folk. She didn’t raise her hands in prayer and just stared at the sepulcher, as if lost in thought.

  I stood nearby, my presence snatching her from her trance. She managed a weak, almost intimidated smile, then averted her gaze.

  I tried to recall one of the few Karmazi phrases I knew, then realized I knew Karmazi. Why did I know Karmazi? Or Crucian? Or Himyaric? “How are you?” I hoped I’d gotten the accent right.

  The girl answered “fine” in Karmazi, though with a nervous lilt, and she’d used the casual form, which wasn’t appropriate when addressing someone from a royal household. Why did I know so much about this obscure language?

  “Sorry,” I said, speaking Paramic, “I don’t know much more of your language.” Or rather, I shouldn’t know. Just another mystery for the pile.

  “Why would you? We all speak Paramic.”

  I tried to recall if Karmazis were known to possess a rare blood flavor, but Flavors of Blood Volume One didn’t mention such a thing. Perhaps if I’d had time to read Volume Two, I could’ve learned about such a flavor and its possibilities. I’d left it hidden in my room and hoped to return to it soon.

  “Will you be defending the wall, as well?” I asked.

  “If Abu wants.” She always kept her answers so short.

  It made me more eager to dig. “What do you want? Do you care about any of this? A war between an uncle and nephew?”

  She moved her lips, then hesitated. After a moment of thought, she said, “Kyars…he’s a good man.”

  Her, too? Why did everyone believe that? Couldn’t they see through his obvious chicanery? Though such beliefs bolstered my cause, it bothered me how easily people were deceived in this day and age.

 
; “Yes, he is,” I said. “He’s touched every Alanyan, in some way.” He liked to touch the women especially, whether they were his or not. “In what way has he bettered your life, dear?”

  “He saved my father,” she whispered.

  Now that could have many meanings, metaphorical to physical. “Oh? How so?”

  She finally gave me her gaze. Those sun-colored irises…sharp, yet somber. “My father fought for the Sirmians at the Battle at Syr Darya. The Crucians would’ve slaughtered him had Kyars not rode in, just in time, to rescue him.”

  Unexpected and perplexing. “Is your father…a janissary?”

  She shook her head. “Janissaries didn’t fight in that battle. My father is…a khazi…in the service of Hayrad the Redbeard.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “I don’t know much about the battle, aside from my beloved’s heroics.”

  “I owe Kyars,” she said. “I’ll defend his wall.”

  The feeling that something wasn’t adding up wormed through my gut. But I couldn’t quite finger the false string in her story. Meanwhile, a sweeper entered the room — a gray-haired woman clad in one of those robes. She said a quick prayer with raised hands and broomed the already tidy space, keeping her distance.

  I thought of another tact, despite being annoyed by it. “You know, for the poets in Laughter Square, beauty and Karmazi girl might as well be synonyms. And even among the Karmazi girls I’ve seen, you’re stunning.” It was a bit of a stretch. While she was pleasant looking, I’d seen better among the dancers who frequented the harem. “Why, dear, hasn’t some wealthy vizier’s son snatched you up?”

  “I’m of low blood,” she said. “The daughter of a khazi. Why would anyone—”

  “You’re not of low blood. Your Paramic is loftier than Sultana Mirima’s, at least when you’re pressed to speak more than two words. And your accent…I can’t quite place it, but it’s not Karmazi, that’s for certain. You barely speak that language, and you stumbled on your own name. No, you’re something else.”

  Her weak shrug and slanted frown showed a lack of bother. “So what if I’m something else? What’s it to you? And could this be a case of a sour tongue accusing a sweet grape? Perhaps you’re not what you seem. You speak Paramic as if you authored the Recitals of Chisti, and your accent reminds me of an old play set in the time of the saint-kings. But I don’t care enough to pry.”