The Red Throne Page 3

  Roshan raised his chin as if looking for the inquisitor. Palvar prepared himself. The inquisitor couldn't make it but we’ve come by his order, was the lie he was ready to stick to. Time was running out—something he could tell the captain felt, too—and he needed answers. If he was wrong, well, he’d pay whatever price was demanded later.

  The magus wheezed, then stepped aside.

  Palvar blinked, then, before the captain could say anything or fear would stall him, crossed the threshold.

  The air was stuffy inside. Dust motes floated about in the eerie light shaft.

  “I wondered whether you’d come back,” said the magus.

  Palvar turned around. The magus hadn't moved from the door. With some trepidation, Palvar realized the captain hadn't entered the dwelling either. Belatedly, he recalled the inquisitor offering ritualistic words before entering the door. Blood and onions, he swore. He’d done none of that.

  “Well, it appears you were right.”

  The magus made a strange wheezing sound. “Another difficult night, man from Nikhtun?”

  “Something like—” Palvar paused. Surely, the magus couldn't know of the nightmares plaguing him. “—that.”

  “Hmm.”

  Palvar squinted. He couldn't see the magus’s features clearly, but was there a hint of a smirk on his thin lips? A tendril of terror struck out at his heart. Palvar swallowed. “I didn't fail to notice how the imagery of the dead priest’s words written in blood surprised you yesterday.”

  The smile stayed on the magus’s face. Outside, the captain looked over his shoulder once more as if making sure they hadn't been followed.

  Palvar took a cautious step forward. “If you know anything about the matter, you must share it with us. If it can offer any help, the Sultanate would be most grateful for it.”

  “The magi owe no allegiance to governments of men.”

  “For the Sultan, then,” pressed Palvar. “Isn’t he the ultimate lord of your order?”

  Roshan crossed his arms, swaying lightly on his feet again. “Blood magi are rare, extremely so. I’ve never come across one in my lifetime. They are Ajeeb magi, ones with the power to use a victim’s blood and its proximity to transmute forces of nature.” He took a step forward, closing the distance between them so much that when he smiled, Palvar could see his rotten yellow teeth. “Word of advice. If the dead priest warned you about a blood magus, run!”

  Palvar shuffled uncomfortably. The silk turban felt heavy on his head. In Nikhtun, men wore ship-like hats—a much more sensible choice of attire, come to think of it.

  “Palvar!” called out Captain Habbra. “We’re getting nowhere.”

  Palvar raised a hand and nodded at the magus. “If you don’t know of magi like these, might there be others who could assist us?”

  “You do not know what you’re dabbling with.”

  “Be that as it may, I’d very much like to stop them,” Palvar insisted. “No matter the cost.”

  The magus glared at him.

  “You mentioned rogue magi before?” asked Palvar, his heart beating hard. “Is it ever possible for a magus to go rogue without the knowledge of his inquisitor?”

  The magus shook his head.

  “Ah,” Palvar whispered, feeling his knees buckle as the full impact of the words hit him.

  Captain Habbra shot him a long, hard stare. “Be very careful, Courtier.”

  Palvar shrugged, then turned his eyes back to the magus. “You know, don’t you? Tell us where to go.”

  The magus didn't reply.

  Palvar drew in a long breath. “No one would ever know you helped us.”

  A tense silence fell.

  Then, an eternity later, the magus leaned forward and started whispering in his ear.

  6

  Rebellion

  1 night before the Grand Celebration

  * * *

  Palvar took in a deep breath, but the night breeze offered up nothing to relieve his shot nerves. The city would be marking the Grand Celebration tomorrow night. He looked around. In the starlit night, he and the captain were the only two figures Palvar could see in the abandoned alley.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” whispered Captain Habbra. “I should return with more men.”

  “Do that and we will alert our quarry,” said Palvar. “No, we’re here, and we’re going through with it.”

  Words were easy things to say, for they didn't always have to adhere to reality. Moreover, if Palvar continued to tell himself he’d succeed, fates would take notice. An old Nikhtun saying that he hoped carried a kernel of truth.

  “What if we’re wrong?” murmured Captain Habbra. “I’ll lose my post. What about you?”

  Palvar forced a smile. “I… I stand to lose a great deal more. Look at it this way, though, even if we’re wrong, at least we would’ve had some excitement to show for it.”

  A frog croaked behind them. Captain Habbra wheeled around, drawing his sword in one smooth movement.

  “Nothing there,” whispered Palvar.

  “I see that,” replied the captain, his eyebrow twitching.

  The docks had been abandoned a decade or so ago when the then Sultan ordered a bigger harbor to be built some distance away. With no humans to maintain the area any longer, both desert and salty ocean water had come to reclaim their dues. The road under their boots was covered under a thick layer of slippery sand and the squat buildings and dockyards had started rotting.

  “Come,” said Palvar, pointing at the warehouse directly ahead. “That’s the place the magus said to visit in the night.”

  “If there is a rogue magus there, shouldn't we be keeping far away from it?”

  “Never knew a captain of the City Guard to be this scared,” noted Palvar sarcastically, then raised a placating hand. “But do I really need to spell out to you the name of the one man who has the means and motives to carry out these attacks, and why we must proceed on our own?”

  “We have no proof.”

  “There,” pointed Palvar, “we shall find it.”

  “Inquisitor Fan—”

  Palvar raised his index finger. “Inquisitor Fan is someone who knew quite a great deal about the dead custodian when we first met him.” He raised his middle finger. “He is the only one who could detect a magus at the scene and he assures us there wasn't any.” He raised his ring finger. “The moment a magus as much as hints at the possibility of a magus operating on their own, the inquisitor shuts us down.” He raised his fourth finger. “Then, the inquisitor assures us not to worry about the warning a man gave us in his last moments.” He raised his thumb. “He refuses to tell us whether the magical artifact has been located or not.” Palvar clenched his fingers into a fist. “Together, where do all these facts take us?”

  “All theory,” huffed Captain Habbra. “Hardly admissible under the law.”

  “Got anything better?” Palvar waited. “No? Then shut up and let’s be done with it.”

  “We cannot fight a magus, Courtier.”

  “Of course not, so let’s stick to the shadows,” said Palvar. “Enter undetected. Look around. See what evidence we can gather. Then take our argument to the higher-ups. If we fail, we approach the Grand Vizier and ask him to cancel the Grand Celebration.”

  “You’re reaching, man from Nikhtun.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  The large man glared at Palvar. “I don’t like ambitious men.”

  “Your wife wouldn't be very happy to hear that.”

  “Keep your mouth—”

  “Let’s go,” said Palvar, patting the captain on the shoulder. He dropped to a crouch and started for the warehouse.

  The captain followed. Despite the stars, the night was dark enough that if no one was looking for them, Palvar was certain they’d slip through undetected. If someone was watching, though… Palvar shook his head. Too late for all that now.

  The frog croaked once more, but thankfully the captain didn't declare all-
out war against it. He kept his sword out in front, though. A wise decision. Palvar reached into his own robes and took out the curved Nikhtun dagger. He wasn’t quite sure whether either of their weapons stood a chance against a magus, but the feel of metal against his bare skin was most welcome.

  The door had been smashed off its hinges some time ago, hanging precariously at an angle. The space beyond was dark. Palvar craned his neck left and right, then looked over his shoulder. They were alone. He’d spotted no windows unfortunately, which meant the only way in was through the door. His heart thudding so hard against his ribs Palvar feared he could be heard all the way to the noisy streets of Algaria, he motioned to Captain Habbra and entered the warehouse.

  Captain Habbra muttered under his breath. Palvar turned around to shush him, then realizing he wouldn't be seen, hissed instead. The captain fell silent.

  Palvar sighed, waiting for his eyes to acclimate to the darkness.

  Gravel scrunched outside. Palvar braced himself, his ears straining.

  Long breaths passed. Nothing.

  Must be imagining things, he decided.

  Something shuffled to his right. Palvar turned towards the noise. Captain Habbra grunted. Palvar’s robes rustled slightly as a draft blew in from outside.

  Then someone screamed.

  Clutching the dagger in both hands, Palvar wheeled around.

  Captain Habbra shouted again, then the sound got swallowed by a sickening thud.

  “No,” cried Palvar, inching back, waving the dagger wildly about. “I cannot fail. Not when we’re this close.”

  Something whooshed past him. Palvar ducked, then lunged to the right and front. “Captain!”

  The captain didn't respond.

  Gritting his teeth, Palvar stood still. The more he moved, the more he’d give his position away. A long, tense silence followed. Another draft blew in, rustling Palvar’s robes. This time, he heard a rustle. He lunged to his right.

  A startled cry rose. Rage coursing through him, Palvar punched the air with his left hand, his other hand brandishing the dagger, stabbing at the dry air.

  Silence.

  Palvar dropped to a crouch. He had been in battles before, all men of Nikhtun had. True, they’d always faced their foes from the west in the flesh, and under Rabb’s blue skies, but what really ought to matter here were the razor-sharp instincts he had honed as a result. He’d outwit their attacker and—

  Something crashed into him with the force of a cartful of sand. Palvar cried out in pain, the dagger slipping from his hand and clattering away in the darkness.

  “No,” Palvar winced.

  A muffled cry alerted him and he stepped back. Just in time, as an instant later something whistled through the air where he had been standing. Palvar straggled back. He was fast, but not fast enough. Something sharp nicked his left temple and he cried out.

  “You bastard!” Palvar gritted his teeth, then pounced forward. His hands brushed against a solid back, and dropping to another crouch, Palvar kicked hard at the attacker’s feet. An angry cry followed. Instinctively, Palvar scooted over to the right and this time punched at the attacker’s mid-section with all his might.

  He found no one.

  Forcing his heartbeat to slow down, his back slick with sweat, blood running down his cheek, Palvar waited. Things were bad. He was bleeding from the head, had no weapon, was locked in a damned warehouse he’d never seen in daylight before, and his only companion had been knocked unconscious. As bad as it was, there was little relief in knowing he’d been right all along. The terrible danger was real—just as he had thought, with a rogue magus out there with a dangerous artifact—but if he didn't get out, no one would know of it before it was too late.

  Where was his attacker?

  Wiping the blood off his eyes, Palvar squinted. The attacker had gone quiet, no doubt waiting for him to make the next move. Palvar had no issues outwaiting him. True, he was usually an impatient man, but he knew full well the importance of employing the right tactics against the right opponent.

  Time wasn't on his side, though.

  Palvar couldn't shout for help. He didn't have a weapon. If he made a beeline for the door, he’d no doubt run right into his attacker. What else, then?

  He smiled as an idea formed in his mind. He slipped off his robes, then letting off a huge cry, balled them and flung them to his right, then bolted left. He ran in a zig-zag pattern, two steps left, then right, all the while heading towards the wall. Do what the enemy never expects. Another Nikhtun adage.

  “Who’s in there?” came a shout from outside.

  The city guards!

  Relief bursting through him, Palvar turned left. Finally, he had caught a lucky break. He’d catch the bastard and retrieve the so-called artifact and then—

  He crashed into a wooden beam face-first. Palvar clattered to the ground, wind knocked from his lungs.

  Pain, vast and terrible, embraced him in its suffocating grip.

  Three thoughts flashed through his mind just before darkness fell.

  He’d been right!

  Had Roshan betrayed them?

  What would happen now?

  7

  The Night

  The Grand Celebration

  * * *

  Kunita grinned as the young guard gaped at her, his jaw hanging loose. Years had begun creeping up on her, but it was good to know she still held on to her power over these poor men. Santoor music wafted through the vast anteroom as distinguished guests from all over the world waited to be acknowledged and escorted into the Rose Gardens beyond.

  If Algaria was the most beautiful girl in the entire world, then the Shahi Qilla tonight was its most erogenous bit. Kunita smiled at that, then, winking at the guard, placed the sheer silk veil back on her face and stepped back to join the other girls from the harem.

  “Look, there’s the ambassador from the Reratish Kingdom,” said one of the girls behind her excitedly.

  “The ameer of Baytun,” piped another one. “The mountain of flesh in the flesh!”

  “I’d heard he couldn't walk,” quipped someone.

  “He’s so fat, I bet he can’t even reach around to please himself,” said the first. The girls burst into laughter. Kunita furrowed her brows. These girls were so young, so naive. Was she that stupid too back then? A man’s true worth wasn’t determined by how he looked, or even the station he was born into. Nay, it was what he was capable of, and what he could accomplish.

  “Girls, be on your best behavior,” Kunita said. “Two hundred years the Sultanate has stood proud. The last thing you want is for these visitors to find faults in her through us.”

  No one objected. Kunita exhaled, letting her veil drop away again. Let these distinguished visitors see the wondrous joys of Algaria that no other harem of the world could dare match in beauty and elegance.

  “Inquisitors!” hissed someone behind her.

  Kunita stood very still. Four inquisitors, all wearing off-white robes and gray turbans, stood quietly to the side. They rarely, if ever, turned up to events like these.

  “I wonder if they are men underneath,” whispered someone.

  “Only one way to find out,” replied another.

  The girls tittered, but Kunita didn't join them. Instead, she watched them closely. The inquisitors tended to keep their own company, locked away in their mysterious world of magi and djinn and other such legends. But there was no denying they held power. Something evidenced by the number of awed eyes they were attracting now.

  A battalion of fifty or so soldiers decked out in glittering gold armor marched into the anteroom. Under the flickering light of the torches, their chests appeared lit on fire.

  “The Sultan’s Body,” murmured Kunita. Her eyes scanned their young faces. The best of the best that Istan had to offer. They stood like statues carved from stone, all of a similar height, moving as if limbs of the same body.

  “Girls, take your positions,” said Kunita, turning around. “The
sultan is not far off.”

  As if on cue, a gaggle of musicians to the side burst into a glorious rendition of the “Six Seasons of Istan.” An uplifting song with a fast beat that practically demanded one to dance to it. Fireworks crackled behind her. Guests oohed and aahed as a dozen silvery lances rushed towards the stars. They burst together, forming glittering patterns of pink and orange flowers.

  “Rabb be praised,” muttered a Husalmin priest, one hand resting on one of Kunita’s girls’ dainty waist. She giggled as his hand dropped to cup her round bottom.

  “To a thousand more years!” shouted someone from beyond the anteroom.

  “To a thousand more years!” Kunita cried out, joining her voice to the thousands.

  Laughter, boisterous and sincere, broke out as another volley of fireworks shot for the skies. Everyone celebrated today, whether citizens of Istan or guests invited to mark the great occasion. Everyone except the Sultan’s Body, who stood mute, unmoving.

  Everyone else shouted and hollered… except for two men who burst into the anteroom. The tall man carried the air of a military man, his clothes torn and dusty as if he’d run a dozen miles. The man beside him, a fair-skinned man with a prominent nose, his forehead bandaged, looked familiar. Someone from the court?

  “We have to stop this,” shouted the fair-skinned man. “Right now!”

  8

  Intentions

  The Grand Celebration

  * * *

  “Are you out of your mind?” Captain Habbra huffed as he turned around to face the courtier. Luckily, the outburst hadn’t drawn many eyes in the anteroom.

  “We’ve lost a whole Rabb-damned day to being unconscious,” Palvar shouted to make himself heard over the clamor. “We’ve failed. This must be the place where the enemy’s planning their attack. We must vacate the Rose Gardens. No, the Shahi Qilla as well. The sultan and the royal family must be taken out of the city immediately and—”