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  Lions of Istan

  Divided Sultanate: Book 1

  Fuad Baloch

  Copyright © 2019 by Fuad Baloch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version: baa

  Illustration © Tom Edwards — TomEdwardsDesign.com

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  A bumbling city guard. A ghastly murder. Terror in the Sultan's Realm.

  A grisly crime and a grieving widow plunge Shoki, a lowly city guard—who never wanted the job (thanks mother and father) and is described by his superiors, in their kinder moments, as blundering—into an investigation that involves no less than one who claimed himself a Sultan of the Realm.

  Shoki is sure he’s got it right. He knows who the killer is.

  But does he have the courage to defy his commanders, buck a system that hasn’t the least leeway for independent initiative, and bring a killer to justice?

  Let me know where you’d like to receive the short story and I’ll be happy to send it to you.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  The “Divided Sultanate” Series

  A Parting Gift

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Shoki

  Don’t screw this up! Take it a step at a time. Don’t screw it up!

  Shoki Malook tripped over the last step leading into the sultan’s public court. Like always, it was filled with petitioners, and for a moment, Shoki feared he would fall on his face and make yet another spectacle of himself, but a firm hand gripped his arm and arrested the plunge.

  “Stay close to me and don’t make any more mistakes,” hissed Salar Ihagra.

  “Y-yes, Salar,” said Shoki, swallowing the lump in his throat at the hard expression in his commander’s eyes.

  Not one from the hundreds gathered in the ornate diwan-e-aam, the sultan’s public court, turned to look at the bumbling city guard and his gnarled commander. Something Shoki was most thankful for.

  Shaking his head, Salar Ihagra turned to the right, threading his way through the well-heeled and their retinues. Shoki followed, his eyes scanning the polished marble floor for anything that might trip him up again.

  Voices rose around him. Rich, cultivated accents of bejeweled ministers, their guts straining against their cummerbunds. A multitude of dialects—wealthy merchants, judging by the large jewels on their silk turbans. Sonorous voices of the Husalmin preachers dressed in white robes to the right. Two magi wearing the customary black turbans conversed in the corner.

  As if feeling Shoki’s eyes upon him, one of the magi turned his catlike eyes toward him. Shoki blanched and looked away. It was unnerving enough that he was in the same room as them; the last thing Shoki needed was their attention on him.

  Santoor music wafted from little niches carved into the floral-tiled walls as musicians plucked their strings, lending an otherworldly ambience to the court. Shoki fought the urge to sit down with them and play a lute.

  The diwan-e-aam was bursting to capacity, yet the wide windows flooded the room with harsh light, the opulently frescoed ceiling yawning so high it hurt Shoki’s neck to look up.

  “Um…” Shoki mumbled, once more awed at finding himself in the center of the civilized world.

  Somehow, despite the cacophony, Salar Ihagra heard him. Turning his head, he raised a bushy eyebrow. “What now?”

  Shoki licked his lower lip, conscious of the commander’s glare, his resolve melting by the second. He pointed at a pillar to the right and squeaked, “Um… perhaps, I erm… should station myself there?”

  Salar Ihagra glared, the corners of his curled white mustache twitching. “To swat the flies?” He leaned in, thumped Shoki on the shoulder, startling him. “You’re a city guard, paid to guard. Keep your mouth shut and get on with your job! Understood?”

  Confusion raged inside Shoki’s chest. Did the salar expect a verbal answer despite having just forbidden it? Damned either way. “Eek… yahm…” he mumbled instead.

  Apparently satisfied, the salar turned and began marching through the courtiers. Shoki coughed as he caught a glimpse of the Peacock Throne at the other end of the vast hall. Then, offering a quick prayer to all twelve Ahmin gods for another uneventful day, he plodded behind the salar.

  Left foot. Followed by the right. Left again—

  He bumped into a pillar that shouldn’t have been there.

  “Watch where you’re going, you camel-son!”

  Shoki looked up and felt his eyes go wide at the sight of the thickset man glaring at him. No narrower than the huge marbled pillar beside him, the eldest prince’s personal bodyguard would have frightened the meanest of djinn. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Shoki opened his jaw, then closed it, fumbling for words, hoping the ground would swallow him.

  “Got nothing to say?” growled the barrel-chested man, the hot words sending shivers down Shoki’s spine.

  “Erm… I…”

  “Apologies, Sahib,” came Salar Ihagra’s voice. “For his oversight, I’ll see to it personally that he’s adequately disciplined.”

  Shoki groaned, squeezed his eyes at the thought of ten whip lashes awaiting him.

  “Hmm,” grunted the beast, his eyes drifting away. Shoki popped open an eyelid. Just behind the guard, he caught a glimpse of Prince Ahasan, the sultan’s eldest son and presumed heir to the Istani throne, yawning. No less corpulent than his guard, the prince sat atop a mound of cushions, his stubby fingers adorned with thick rings. To either side lay trays of half-chewed exotic fruits.

  “Hurry along, jawan,” snapped Salar Ihagra. Startled, Shoki nodded.

  Prince Ahasan said something, and the burly man leaned toward him. Sensing their moment, the salar gestured, and they stepped away.

  Once more, the two guards made their way through the throng, eliciting grunts and complaints from the junior bureaucrats whose beady eyes shot daggers at them even as they gave way grudgingly. Shoki dragged his feet across, pushing his messy hair underneath the brass helmet, very aware of the attention his height was drawing.

  Fifty feet from the Peacock Throne, they came upon a cluster of ministers dressed in rich silk robes. They
huddled together like wrinkles in an old gown, their jaws adorned with rich, luxuriant facial hair.

  Almost subconsciously, Shoki scratched his own hairless chin and felt the fuzzy stubble. One more thing he’d never share with the powerful.

  “Hurry along,” hissed the salar, and Shoki plodded ahead.

  To the right, silk curtains blocked off a chamber from prying eyes. From within, rose soft, decidedly feminine giggles.

  Don’t look. Don’t look!

  The curtain parted as a eunuch dressed in a leather vest and flowing pants emerged. Shoki looked up at the eunuch, then his gaze drifted into the room. His heart leapt into his throat as he caught sight of Princess Nuraya throwing her head back and laughing. His feet faltered. Surrounded by ladies-in-waiting, the dark-skinned princess with the bright green eyes outshone them all like a gold necklace atop a pile of glittering dust.

  An angry cough sounded and Shoki realized his mistake. Salar Ihagra glared at him, his brass helmet slightly askew in the manner Shoki knew spelled trouble for him.

  More lashes!

  “I thought you had real potential after that case you solved,” hissed the salar. “Whatever happened afterward?”

  My flashes of intuition dried up. Shoki forced a grin, then, leaving the captivating sight of the sultan’s daughter behind him, he joined the salar as they moved past the curtains and took their usual spots at the corner wall a mere twenty feet from the Peacock Throne itself.

  Just a dozen Sultan’s Body jawan stood between them and the sultan himself.

  Taking a long breath to calm his nerves, Shoki inclined his chin. The Peacock Throne glittered in the sunlight, reflecting the rays more brightly than it received them. The massive twenty-foot-wide throne sat atop a dais covered with thick Kur’shi carpets.

  Shoki just had to stand on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the Iron Sultan. But as had been the case these past seven months at the diwan-e-aam, his courage once more deserted him at the very thought.

  Instead, fidgeting with the lapels of his leather vest, Shoki allowed his eyes to roam across the splendor of the Istani court.

  High-backed chairs, set below the throne, fanned out like rays of the noon sun. To the sultan’s left sat Grand Vizier Madhu Ghiani, his ancient features deep in thought, one hand combing through his long white beard. Directly opposite him sat Riyan Hambur, leader of the Kalb inquisitors tasked with restraining the magi.

  Both men’s eyes watched the whimpering figure of a middle-aged man, his body shaking as he genuflected in front of the Peacock Throne over and over.

  Shoki squinted. The man’s brown turban was tattered, his robes dirty. Not something even a beggar wore when meeting the sultan of Istan.

  His heartbeat quickening, Shoki stood on his tiptoes. Sultan Anahan sat serenely on the Peacock Throne, his smooth features and short gray beard belying his advanced years. If there was any truth to the rumors of the debilitating disease devouring him, the hardness of his steady, non-blinking eyes gave away nothing.

  The wailing man looked up, meeting the sultan’s eyes. As if scalded, he flinched and turned away. His lips moved, but Shoki couldn’t hear him over the din.

  The sultan leaned forward, raised a hand. He uttered not a word, but the simple act spoke louder than any shout would have. Like ripples racing outward, voices died, and heated arguments trailed away. Shoki blinked. What must all this power feel like?

  “Tell us again what troubles you,” said Sultan Anahan, the words soft, almost a whisper, yet they carried easily to Shoki.

  The man dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve, appearing awed by the control the Iron Sultan exerted on his subjects.

  “Keeper of the Divide, I beseech you to send aid to our city,” began the man. “For the past few weeks, buildings that have stood for decades, even the sacred temples, have been crumbling to the ground without any warning.” The wretched man wiped his forehead. “Ten days have passed since your august court granted me an audience. I fear what’s already happened in my absence.”

  The sultan turned his eyes toward the grand vizier. Hundreds of faces moved in unison. “Madhu, what does the city’s Nizam and his council have to say about this?”

  The grand vizier’s fingers ceased their dance. Leaning heavily on his cane, he rose to his full height and bowed his head. An expectant hush fell upon the onlookers. Shoki squirmed, wondered what it would feel like to be looked upon by so many at the same time.

  “He offers no explanation, my sultan,” said the grand vizier. Murmurs broke out at that. Madhu coughed, took in a deep, rattling breath, ran a hand through his long white beard. “There are suggestions it could be work of a rogue magus. However, I remain unconvinced…”

  Rogue magus?

  Shoki was sure he wasn’t the only one replaying the words in his mind. The grand vizier was still talking, but Shoki could hardly hear him now. Faces turned and a din of worried voices talked over each other. Shoki couldn’t recall ever hearing of a rogue magus in his lifetime, but if his mother was correct, Istani history was replete with tales of rogue magi who turned up once in a century and caused great upheaval until quashed by the inquisitors.

  And now they were here? Shoki turned to Salar Ihagra. The old warrior stood silently, scowling as if bored.

  “A magus,” repeated the sultan, his voice soft, and his eyes never leaving the grand vizier’s face. Shoki chewed his lower lip, enchanted by the sultan’s unblinking eyes.

  “If I may…” came a voice from the sultan’s right. Riyan, leader of the Kalb inquisitors, rose, offered a slight bow toward the throne, his dark eyes trained on the grand vizier. “If there is any truth to the rumor, that is a job for the Kalb, tasked with disciplining the magi, instead of local law keepers.”

  “It’s mere conjecture at this point,” said the grand vizier.

  Riyan scoffed. “A risk we can ill afford. Every magus that slips away threatens the Realm’s peace.”

  The kneeling man sniffed as if the words had struck close to home.

  “No one denies or challenges the risks,” said the grand vizier, his voice gruff, and his eyes glaring at the inquisitor. A shiver ran down Shoki’s spine. Few lived as long as the grand vizier, and absolutely none had occupied a position as powerful as his for as long as Madhu Ghiani had. “But one doesn’t send an army to rout out a plague. Each tool has its place and purpose.”

  “Bah!” declared the plump younger man, unimpressed by the stately grand vizier.

  A shorter man, his heavy mustache covering the upper lip, limped forward to join Riyan. Judging by the cruel dagger hanging from his cummerbund, he might have been a former army officer. Someone Shoki had seen before but didn’t know by name.

  The sultan raised a finger. Silence fell. “Prince Ahasan, what’s your counsel?”

  Faces turned once more. Startled, the prince looked up at his sire, his jaw hanging loose, fingers frozen mid-air, a bunch of grapes dangling. Beside him, the envoy from the Kingdom of Reratish paled and coughed. “I… um…” stammered the prince, his eyes wandering over to the guard who Shoki had bumped into before and who seemed equally bewildered. “Whatever your majesty decides—inspired by Rabb’s divine light—would be wise.”

  The sultan coughed. A weak, hollow sputter. The smooth features hardened for a second before he turned away from his first-born son.

  “My sultan,” said the grand vizier, pointing at the kneeling man. “I suggest giving the Nizam of the city more time to conclude his findings. After all, there is every reason—”

  “With all due respect,” cut in Riyan, not sounding respectful at all, “the longer we wait, the harder it will be to find the magus once the trail gets cold.” The short inquisitor beside him whispered again in his ears.

  The grand vizier shook his head. “If I understand correctly, this particular… phenomenon has been going on for weeks. Assuming it is a magus, he or she seems in no hurry to hide.”

  Shoki swallowed. Currents ran undercurrents when powerful men spok
e in the diwan-e-aam. Shoki heard the two men spar and knew there was more at play that he did not comprehend.

  Then again, these matters weren’t meant for him. Life for men like him was a never-ending litany of chores and mundane obligations posed by a job he’d gotten stuck in. Shoki adjusted his weight, his mind going through the errands waiting for him. His mother wanted him to visit the grocer on the way back. Once home, his father would no doubt want to have another talk with him—more prattling about the need to secure one’s future and settle down.

  And, oh, he had to ensure he got past old Gohara, lest the nosy neighbor got another chance to bore him with tales of all that had gone wrong with her life.

  The din had grown quiet. Realizing that, Shoki inclined his chin. The sultan was drumming his fingers on the armrest, his face grave. Shoki swallowed and darted his head to the left. Through the parted curtains, once more, he caught a glimpse of the princess.

  “I do not need my counselors to agree, but I also do not want them to digress.” The Iron Sultan fell quiet, clenching his jaw tight. A breath later, his features relaxed.

  “My sultan,” said the grand vizier. “There might very well be a middle path here.” He scratched at his chin through the long beard. “Perhaps the Kalb head would be willing to send one of his members to investigate the happenings at Ghulamia…” Riyan nodded, a triumphant smile spreading on his lips. “Along with a representative of mine to confer with the Nizam.”