by Fuad Baloch
“We’ll smash his forces,” she said, forcing a note of confidence that she hoped didn't ring false. Camsh nodded, growing quiet. Nuraya shook her head. She’d not known much about the Reratish crown prince before he had crossed into Istan. Without really knowing her enemy, she had hoped to outmaneuver him, offering him an alliance through marriage, leaving very little in ways of enforcing her conditions. An alliance was formed between people of honor, those who had courtesy, and noble blood coursing through their veins. She’d made a mistake, not thinking her actions through. Then again, if Rabb did indeed watch her, He had helped her see the prince’s treachery. “Camsh, what do we know more about Prince Sabrish?”
His nose wrinkled. “By most accounts, he lived most of his adult life in a Fanna sanctuary as a recluse. Not much is known of his life there, or why he continues to keep his features hidden.” He shuffled in the saddle. “He does have a preternatural sense for warfare, though.”
“Hmm,” she said, feeling troubled. Never ideal facing an enemy one knew very little about.
“My sultana,” said Camsh after a moment’s hesitation. “It might be worthwhile to see if we can recruit more commoners and mercenaries before we arrive at Buzdar. We might not get a second chance.”
Nuraya exhaled. “If Salar Ihagra is a man of his words, he will have more soldiers waiting for us at Rezalan.”
Camsh fell silent, though his face remained pinched. She knew the reason, of course. Even if the salar had somehow doubled his numbers since the time they had met, they would still be hopelessly outnumbered. By the last count, the Reratish had more than two hundred thousand soldiers in the region. Veterans of successful battles, their morale high, led by a siphsalar who had never lost. Moreover, if they were hunkering down in Buzdar, they had the advantage of strong walls—an advantage she had surrendered to them.
Was she making a mistake? Was that what Camsh had been wanting to say, but hesitating to do so? Was that why Ahasan had asked why she was heading for a certain defeat, dragging him along?
Nuraya swallowed.
Istan was fractured, bleeding from a thousand wounds. Quite a few ameers of provinces who had escaped the invaders had declared independence, sending delegations to the foreigners to be recognized as vassal states. Istan’s once mighty armies had melted away, absorbed into marauding bands of mercenaries, or decimated under incapable siphsalars.
There was no more waiting, no occasion to choose the perfect timing.
No better way of healing a fracture than by forcibly splinting the bones together.
If the rot wasn’t contained now, Istan, the glorious sultanate, would be dead.
Nuraya turned back, her eyes scanning the angry faces of the Istani behind her.
Even joined by Ahasan’s forces, and the peasants that were calling for her, she didn't have the numbers. But she did have one thing on her side that the Reratish didn't.
Righteous fury.
They were in the right.
And after all that had gone wrong in her life, it was finally time for it to all come out right in the end. It had to! Faith. That was what she needed to have.
Her mind drifted. Licking her lips, Nuraya reflected on all the choices and circumstances that had led her here. Her decision to leave Algaria. Her flirtations with the magi. Her decision to not punish her mother when she should have. Her decision to attack Buzdar. The disastrous siege of Algaria.
They had all led here, to this very moment, where she knew her journey would end one way or the other.
Either they would prevail and, finally, start to reclaim Istan for her people. Or this would be the end of Nuraya Istan, daughter of the great Sultan Anahan and Queen Aleena of Buzdar.
Her thoughts continued to flit around as they took the road leading west, toward Rezalan.
Where was Shoki this very moment?
She saw the thin, awkward man in her mind. Strange that even as her journey was coming to a definite close, his might very well continue on, the course of history moving on without her.
A pang of loneliness spread in her chest.
What would be the consequences of her actions? What would the future look like without the city guard who had grown so much in stature? Would she ever see him again? Fear of the future took root, her resolve weakening.
Focus on what needs doing! Nuraya pursed her lips, gathering her strength around her, pushing away all distracting thoughts. She was the sultana, one who had to be at multiple fronts at the same time—a matter she would need to raise with Ahasan if they won. “Camsh, any news about the magi or inquisitors traveling west?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had scouts dig for news. Though the inquisitors hadn't been lying and there have been sightings reported, the magi seem to be keeping a low profile without attracting much attention.”
She exhaled. “Any word from Jalna?”
“The scouts I sent never returned.”
Nuraya licked her lips. What had happened there? Was Shoki alright? His warnings floated up. What other war did he keep talking about? Was it the djinn he feared?
She shrugged. She was doing all she could for the moment.
A gust of frigid wind blew in from the north. Unexpected. Unseasonal. Shivering, Nuraya hugged her chest, then craned her neck up to the heavens, staring at the sun shining brightly over their heads. Was it an alive thing, imbued with consciousness? Was it witnessing their quest? If so, how did it rate her chances?
Chuckling at the silly idea, she turned her attention back to the path ahead.
Her journey was coming to an end. One that had started with her claiming to be Istan’s sultana, demanding it bend to her will, now culminating in her offering all she had for Istan’s sake.
She was fighting for something larger, grander than herself.
A purpose, she realized, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.
She finally had a purpose.
Chapter 40
Shoki
“We… have to keep… moving,” said Shoki, dragging his feet forward through the thick forest underbrush.
“You can’t keep going like this,” said Jiza, a step behind him. “You need to rest.”
Shoki shook his head. His back hurt, his feet were bleeding, and his ribs still ached from when Naila had flung him across the room two days ago. But he had to keep going. He had to!
“I wish I had more power to gift you,” said Maharis, one hand wiping sweat off his forehead. He still looked feeble. “Alas, what I do have for the moment would not help you.”
Gritting his teeth, Shoki ignored the magus. He had been a part of Naila’s cabal—no matter his intentions. Though he had tried talking to Shoki last night when they had finally stopped to munch on the provisions they had managed to loot from the inquisitor castle, Shoki had rebuffed him.
“You have to trust me when I say I didn't know what Naila and the others were planning!” said Maharis again.
“Lies,” replied Shoki, still not looking at the magus, the sense of impending doom growing with each labored step, panic rising and rising at what Nuraya was getting into. “Blood magic! How could you not know?”
“They always thought I, having spent most of my life in Algaria, had a soft spot for the non-magical. That all they wanted from me were reports on the external world, keeping their plans secret from me.”
“So, all this time,” said Jiza, sounding the least tired of them, “you had no idea they wanted to raid the inquisitor castle to finish their blood magic ritual?”
“None!”
Shoki grimaced. The magus was lying. Had to be. How could the magi not trust one of their own? Memories of the disastrous assault floated up in his memory and he groaned. People had died at Jalna, both magi and inquisitors. Not something he’d wanted. Besides, only the gods knew how many phials had been destroyed, setting the magi free from inquisitors.
How many of those magi, armed with artifacts looted from the inquisitor castles across Istan, would join Naila?
&nb
sp; What had he set in motion?
Naila had an Akbar artifact with the power to repel the inquisitors.
Worse, she had referred to it as something she needed for her ritual. Gods, don’t let this be for Nuraya. Let me be wrong. Keep her safe!
How long had the pari folks been setting this plan in motion? Had the stone been at Ghulamia at some point?
He didn’t know. Didn’t care. The pari folk could have a thousand more agents amongst the humans and the djinn, but so long as no harm came to Nuraya, he’d be alright with the ramifications.
“I have to get to the western front!” he said, chewing his lower lip so hard he felt it break. “I have to warn Nuraya!”
They continued to trudge forward for another grinding mile. Occasionally, Shoki darted his head around at the rustle of the long grass and twigs breaking in the distance but saw nothing. The forests up here swarmed with life unlike the wilderness surrounding Algaria—life that seemed wholly unperturbed by all the worries gripping him.
Frustrated, exhausted, spent, he tried peering through the dense trees to the left, then to the right, but spied no signs of civilization. What was the probability of them coming upon wild horses they could try and tame? Did horses even live in forests or did they prefer valleys and pastures that allowed them to gallop in freedom? Shoki didn't know, didn't care to know the truth.
He turned his head up toward the sun, setting over the horizon. Was it sensible pushing directly west, instead of trying to seek provisions from towns up north?
True, he was out of time, but was he making matters worse by going down this route? Was there no other way of getting his warnings across to Nuraya?
Rage filled him. Impotent. Overwhelming. He’d been suspecting foul play all along. Why hadn’t he trusted Nuraya? Why hadn’t he done something to prevent this shitty state of his making?
Jiza was saying something to the magus, her voice mellow, melodious. Her accent had grown softer, Shoki realized, after all the time she had spent in Istan. He shook his head. Not once had she pestered him about returning to Nainwa since they had set out from the inquisitor castle after Naila had left.
She had been right all along too. The rot of Nainwa had arrived in Istan. Had the city been cursed by some other abominable magic long since banned, like blood magic?
“We should seek an imperial highway and head for a town,” said Maharis. “Better to travel on a horse than keep slogging through like this.”
“No,” said Shoki, clenching his fingers. “I have no time to waste!”
Maharis grumbled, readjusting the backpack he had been carrying since they had left the castle. “The south is overrun by the blasted Zakhanan. Looks like no place in Istan is at peace.”
“Shoki,” said Jiza. He turned his head around. She stood still, her long hair blowing behind her in the slight breeze. Shoki tried standing still. “It’s time we tried again.”
He raised a tired eyebrow, his addled mind not thinking right. “Try what?”
“I’ve been saving my well,” she said, then hesitated for a moment. Shaking her head, she reached into her bosom. Shoki blinked. Jiza retrieved a tiny stone gleaming in her palm. “I found an Asghar stone that should help.”
Shoki swallowed, aware now of what she wanted to do. “What if it still doesn’t work? You would end up wasting your well and potentially this stone.”
“Isn’t this the time you’d want to try?”
“Yes!” He grimaced, looked up. God of the Husalmin, the divinities of the Atishi and all others I do not even know of, you know what lies at stake. Help us!” He nodded.
Jiza sashayed over, stopping inches away from him. Closing her eyes, her fingers closing on the stone, she began chanting. A soft, melodic song that continued to rise with each passing breath. He caught a glimpse of Maharis taking a step back, his own eyes widening. Dimly, he wondered what the magus thought of witnessing a djinn wield her jadu.
The air hummed. The sunlight at Shoki’s back grew hot. The grass stalks froze halfway through their movement. Shoki swallowed, choked when he found the simple act of breathing impossible. Jiza was still chanting, a soft purple light emanating from her hand, extending to cover her head to toe, reaching toward him.
Reflexively, Shoki tried taking a step back. His feet didn't respond. Licking his lips, he allowed the light to envelop him.
A dense softness, a thick viscous substance washed over him. A buzzing of invisible bees filled his ears.
Jiza’s eyes popped open. Still chanting, she raised her hand containing the Asghar stone and opened her fingers. The stone shone brighter than the noon sun, blinding Shoki with its brilliance. Shoki yelped, unable to draw his eye away from the mesmerizing object.
With a soft clink, the Asghar stone shattered, sending a thousand different shards raining over them. Shoki braced himself. The parts that did hit him did so with the energy of flower petals.
Jiza placed her palm on Shoki’s chest.
Shoki felt his eye widen as an avalanche of energy, cold and hot at the same time, smashed into his chest. A mountain that flowed with the energy of a raging river. An ocean of sensations that drowned his senses. “I… I… t-this…” he stuttered.
Jiza’s head slumped, and she staggered back. Maharis stepped forward, steadied her before she could fall.
Shoki stood frozen, his body still enveloped by the purple hue, the rush of sensations still washing over him.
Tentatively, almost afraid, he raised his own hand, the fingers reaching forward, eager to grab jadu.
They found nothing.
“No,” he muttered, reaching out again, once more finding nothing.
“No!”
“Noooo!”
Frustrated, he willed his fingers to locate the current of jadu, thirsting for it to fill his veins with its power and grant him the otherworldly sight that accompanied his experience as a magus.
Nothing.
The purple light was beginning to fade, the torrid of sensations reducing to a trickle.
Crying with rage and shame, Shoki straggled forward, each fiber of his being straining, straining, and yet failing.
The Asghar stone’s power winked out. As did the sensations that had flown from Jiza’s hand.
“I… I cannot,” Shoki croaked, his chin dropping.
“You tried,” he heard Jiza say. She sounded tired, exhausted. Panic, regret rose through his chest.
“I won't be able to do much for quite some time,” she said.
He raised his chin, turned toward her. “Thank you for trying.” He didn’t wipe the tears of rage and frustration from his cheek. “I have definitely burned myself out. And with that, any chance of saving Nuraya.”
Maharis coughed. “I’m an old man, prone to misjudging people.” He patted Jiza gently on the shoulder and stepped toward him. “I pray—hope—you’re different from the queen and Naila.”
“What—” Shoki started.
Maharis waved him off. He reached into his pockets and produced a green jewel that glittered in his palm.
“I found this Asghar stone, one I managed to hide from Naila,” he said, his voice calm. “Over the course of yesterday and today, I’ve been using it slightly to see what powers it granted me.” He paused to take a breath. “Power. Speed. Greater than the Asghar stone the queen had me use. Using it, I can grant us the energy to move three times quicker than the fastest warhorse. Enough power, I imagine, to take us to the edge of the western realm.”
“Maharis,” said Shoki, suddenly unsure on what to say to him. “I…”
“Say nothing, boy,” Maharis said. “Just… just do the right thing. Magi or not, I’m an Istani first. Save this land, and your sultana. And your people.” He pointed at the stone. “Let’s make good use of it.”
Jiza smiled at the Jaman magus.
“Here we go,” said Maharis. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.
Chapter 41
Nuraya
Buzdar stood tall and proud to
her left.
Nuraya walked through her campsite, fighting the urge to turn and look at the distant lines of Reratish forces arrayed outside the trenches they had dug. Even from this distance, the ground rumbled softly under the hooves of their heavy riders.
“The scouts report another five thousand men joining the Reratish ranks,” said Camsh, struggling to pitch his voice over the general din around them, half-running to keep up with her.
Nuraya nodded but didn't bother replying. Her forces now numbered more than forty-five thousand, another five thousand mercenaries and ten thousand peasants joining in since they had arrived in Nikhtun province three days ago. A veritable force, even if the bulk had never held a sword before. Even if they were to grow five times their size, she knew they were ill-matched against the Reratish forces who were greater in number, better trained, and gaining fresh reinforcements on an almost daily basis.
Troubling thoughts continued to swarm her.
Had she been wrong in her insistence to continue west without gathering more forces? Should she have tried appealing to more ameers to lend them their strength?
Despite herself, she turned her head left. Reratish flags fluttered over Buzdar’s guard posts. The Red Fort, once her uncle’s seat of power, now flew the Reratish colors.
That was shocking in itself, but what she still couldn't wrap her mind around were the sheer numbers of Reratish forces that spilled out from the main gates and onto the valley outside.
Camsh knew their exact numbers. Something she didn't need to know when the odds were so heavily stacked against them. She returned her gaze forward, not slowing down, not allowing the trepidation in her heart to show on her face.
“Any news about Salar Ihagra and other mercenary salars?”
“The scouts haven't returned with any firm news, my sultana,” he shouted back. “Perhaps he, like other mercenaries, saw the direction of the wind and turned away.”
“Hmm,” she said.
Another dozen steps later, she crossed into Ahasan’s side of their campsite. Not many markers differentiated her camp from her brother’s, except for the Istani flag with the lion roaring over a sea of blue unlike the black that her Sultana’s Hands had taken to. That, and the greater number of horsemen in his employ.
