The Red Throne Page 4

  “No one is going to do that,” Captain Habbra said. “Tonight’s the Grand Celebration. Not the grand retreat from an unseen danger.”

  “You and I know firsthand what’s going on!” shouted Palvar. Captain Habbra clenched his fists. Thankfully, except for one of the harem girls watching them curiously, others seemed more interested in anything but them.

  “Someone attacked us,” Captain Habbra said, repeating the argument he’d been making since they’d woken up at the apothecary and rushed here. “That’s a fact. We still don’t know why.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Regardless—”

  “Men of the Sultan’s Body,” shouted Palvar at the top of his voice. “Find Inquisitor Fan. Restrain him. He must not—”

  Captain Habbra slapped his hand over Palvar’s mouth. “Ignore him,” he said, pointing at Palvar’s bandaged temple. “This man has suffered a terrible blow on the head.”

  “Captain Jeet Habbra!” Palvar growled, worming his way free.

  “Courtier Palvar Turka, stay put or I’ll have you thrown out of here.”

  Palvar turned around to face him. His eyes were bloodshot, the bandage red once more. Barely an hour had passed since they’d both regained consciousness at the apothecary but already it seemed an eternity had passed.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Captain Habbra warned. “I’ve sent word. City guards are searching everyone who enters.”

  “Do they know to look for the artifact?”

  “Well—”

  “Do they know how to detect a rogue magus?”

  “Palvar, my leader is going to have a talk with the Head of Kalb regarding Inquisitor Fan’s behavior. He might be an inquisitor, but if he’s behind the attack on us, even he isn’t beyond the long arm of the law.”

  “It’ll all be too late by then!” Palvar protested. “After all this, can’t you see that?”

  “We’ve done all we could…” Captain Habbra said slowly, then his face grew hard and he shook his head. “Gods damn you, I can’t argue with you. I’ll round up the right people and formulate a plan. You, do nothing stupid!”

  Palvar’s face grew even redder. Finally, he nodded. “Very well, Captain.”

  Captain Habbra stared at him for a long moment. The delegation from Reratish standing beside them exclaimed and he looked up at the skies. The last time he’d seen fireworks at such a grand scale was when the first columns of the Grand Husalmin Temple had been completed.

  When he looked back down, Palvar was gone.

  “No,” Captain Habbra muttered, a weight settling into the pit of his stomach. Palvar was erratic, moved by emotion and spur of the moment. Not a man to let loose at a time as critical as this.

  “Fire!” came a shout from the other side of the room. Captain Habbra stood still. It was Palvar’s voice. “Run! Fire!”

  9

  Costs

  The Grand Celebration

  * * *

  Palvar placed himself between the anteroom and the hundred-yard walk through the elaborate walkway that led into the Rose Gardens. Thankful for the dagger he had managed to whisk off a fleeing guard’s waist, he eyed the crowd.

  Once he’d slipped past the captain, it had been fortuitous to find the rich cotton tapestry fluttering so close to the burning torches. It had been an easy enough matter to set the two together. A minor fire, but enough to stoke panic. And when panic rose, it didn't abate until it had run its course.

  Palvar blew out hot breath. He’d be punished, that much was certain. The captain had bent the rules far enough for his sake, but to disrupt an occasion as grand as this was blasphemous. Would they exile him to Nikhtun? No, not for something like this. They’d skin him alive, his name would be banished from ever being spoken again, and seven generations of Nikhtun would pay for his crimes.

  Look for him! Palvar told himself sternly. He scanned the guests as they shouted and tried to flee. Only the Sultan’s Body held their ranks, listening intently to their commander barking orders.

  Palvar could have waited until the inquisitor and his minions showed up or played their hand. But men of Nikhtun pounced at the tiger before the beast had a chance. By injecting the battlefield with panic, there was an opportunity to disrupt the enemy’s plans. A Nikhtun dictum Palvar prayed carried a kernel of truth.

  Palvar saw no men wearing black turbans. The sultan might have been their titular leader, but no one socialized with magi, of course. A part of him hoped that he was wrong, that all this had been a big misunderstanding on his part and that—

  “I saw you set the fire on purpose,” said a harsh female voice to his left.

  Palvar wheeled around. The speaker was a ravishing woman, dressed in the scandalous form-fitting dress popular at the Imperial Harem. “I—”

  From the corner of his eye, Palvar caught the briefest of glimpses of someone lunging towards him. He pushed the woman aside, lurching to the right.

  “How dare you disrupt Rabb’s holy plan!” the man shouted as he turned around to face Palvar once more. He was bald and dressed in robes so dark they could have passed for black. “You’ve cost us our opportunity.”

  “Bohdan, retreat!” shouted someone. A panicked voice. “More inquisitors are arriving.”

  “I’ll kill the blasted sultan with my bare hands if I have to,” said the man the voice had called Bohdan, his dark eyes never straying from Palvar. “Always said it was a mistake to work with the abominations.”

  “Listen, Bohdan,” said Palvar, raising a hand. Blood coursed through his veins as the realization sunk in that his trap had actually sprung. He stood on his tiptoes to look for the infernal man’s accomplice but all he saw were fleeing figures and an ever-growing number of city guards and Sultan’s Body knights flooding in. “Let’s talk it out, huh? No harm done yet.” He shrugged, pointing at his forehead. “A bit of hurt that I’ll be happy to overlook. Just—”

  Bohdan screamed, then lunged forward. He was lightning fast and the wicked dagger in his hand would have found home in Palvar’s stomach had the woman from the harem not reached out and pulled him aside.

  Palvar nodded. “Thank you, my dear—”

  “Watch out!” she cried.

  Palvar ducked. Not a moment too soon as the dagger Bohdan had hurled went flying overhead.

  “Alright, now I’m mad!” Palvar said. Then, hurling a torrent of curses in his native Nikhtun dialect, he rushed for the bald man. Bohdan stepped aside, kicking Palvar on the rump. Palvar swerved, but couldn't dodge the attack entirely, the impact sending him clattering to the floor. As he rushed back up, he drew some comfort in realizing guards were rushing through to them.

  “You’ve lost!” Palvar shouted. “Surrender and maybe…” He forced a grin. “Maybe they will go easy on you.” He stepped forward as a dozen guards ran past him towards Bohdan.

  Someone pushed him aside. Captain Habbra. “Get out of the way.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Bohdan retrieve something from his vest, followed by a flicker of silver. “I’ve got this—”

  “No!” Palvar shouted.

  Too late.

  Blood sprayed Palvar’s eyes and he straggled back, gagging. Wiping his face with one hand, he looked for the captain.

  Captain Habbra lay writhing on the marbled floor, his blood spreading over the pristine white stones, the dagger lodged firmly in his head.

  “Blood and onions!” Palvar rushed forward and bent down beside him. Ahead, Bohdan was shouting, struggling as two city guards took him down. A blood-curdling scream came next but Palvar couldn't look away. “Jeet, I… I’m going to fix you up. Don’t you worry. I’ll go get help!”

  “Y-you… silly… arrogant man…” said Captain Habbra, his eyes beginning to roll back. “You… were r-right…”

  “Captain!”

  Voices were shouting all around him. Some still called out for the fire to be put out. One, a particularly loud one, called for the Sultan’s Body to form up and clear the anteroom. Captain Habbra s
huddered, his large body spasming once, then twice, and then finally grew slack.

  Palvar stared at the captain for a long breath. Surely, it couldn't end like this? Not this quickly? Then again, his mission was far from finished. There had been another voice beside Bohdan’s. He struggled to his feet. “Out of my way!” he snarled at the city guards standing in front.

  The city guards wouldn't normally have stepped aside for a minor courtier, but they had seen him with their captain. They stepped aside.

  Palvar winced.

  Bohdan lay still on the ground, his unmoving eyes wide open, his lips curled back in a sneer, his hand still gripping the dagger deposited in his chest.

  “He had another dagger,” said one of the guards beside him.

  “Son of a shitting bat,” Palvar cursed, then dropped down to the ground and began searching the crazed man’s pockets. He blinked when his hand brushed against a smooth, hard rock. He drew it slowly. A dark, unremarkable stone, the size of a hen’s egg.

  “Give it to me,” said a voice behind him. Palvar looked over his shoulder at the two inquisitors glaring at him.

  “Rabb be praised,” said the other inquisitor. “The artifact has been found.”

  “Indeed,” said Palvar sarcastically. Then, he shot up to his feet. “This man had an accomplice. Has he been found?”

  “The artifact!” demanded the inquisitor.

  Palvar had half a mind to fling the cursed thing away with all his might, but he was too tired. Instead, he threw it at the inquisitors, taking perverse delight at the sudden panic in their eyes.

  The city guards parted. A middle-aged man dressed in the full ceremonial gear of a captain of the Sultan’s Guard approached him. The gorgeous woman Palvar had seen before strode in behind him. “We heard of what you’ve done, young man.”

  “I…” Palvar shrugged, feeling his body giving out on him. “Just did my duty and—”

  “You set fire to the curtains,” said the captain, his voice brooking no argument. “And then you tried to get the Grand Celebration canceled.”

  “Well—”

  “And you helped us capture this man,” completed the captain. “What are we to do with the likes of you?”

  Palvar stared. “Offer some wine?”

  “Hmm,” said the captain of the Sultan’s Body. He nodded as one of the knights whispered in his ear. “Get the musicians to start playing again. If anyone asks what happened, tell them…” He scratched his chin. “Rabb, what do we tell them?”

  “Tell them it was a theatrical performance from the Nikhtuni delegation,” said Palvar. “We tend to have a flair for drama.”

  The captain considered him for a long moment, then nodded. “I can see that.” He snapped his fingers. “You heard the man.” He pointed at a guard. “Clear the dead, wipe the floors, then get the guests to come back in. This is a special night where nothing can go wrong.”

  “Nothing can go wrong,” repeated Palvar slowly, not bothering to mask his sarcasm. He looked around once more. Surely the accomplice would have fled by now. The artifact had been retrieved. The priest’s killer had been neutralized. And from the perspective of the Sultanate, the price for all that was paltry, at a mere City Guard captain’s life. A cheap bargain that would not be talked about during the Grand Celebration.

  He knew all that, wouldn't have normally batted his eyelashes twice at that, and yet the realization hurt more than it should have.

  The musicians plucked the santoor strings. The singers picked up “Six Seasons of Istan” again as if nothing had happened. Palvar shivered. As he straggled back, laughter broke out, followed by a volley of fireworks.

  Palvar turned around. He couldn't see the two dead men. Nor their blood.

  The Sultanate had stood for two centuries, overcoming all manner of challenges that had been thrown its way. That was all that mattered tonight.

  It was time to celebrate.

  10

  Epilogue

  Palvar sat, morose, rubbing the hem of his robe between his fingers. The sunlight filtering through his room was harsh, the ornate furniture and heavy curtains storing it all for his discomfort.

  Two days had passed since the Grand Celebration. An event the captain of the Sultan’s Body had eventually kicked him out of once he had started blubbering. The theater was done, the captain had declared, and now the performers had to vacate the stage.

  All reasonable enough, Palvar had thought then. What was not reasonable was the house arrest that had followed since. Two days he’d been forced to stay in his quarters, hearing neither from those he’d counted as friends ever since his arrival in Algaria, nor from the ameer of Nikhtun at whose behest he was here in the first place.

  It was as if everyone had heard his star had fallen and decided to forget him.

  “May the owls eat them all!” cursed Palvar. “I won’t stay here like this.” He wouldn't, he knew that much. He also knew that if he broke out of this enforced house arrest, whatever fate had been decided for him, would be made ten times worse.

  He leaned back on the divan, letting his gaze take in Algaria through the windows. His quarters were a couple of miles away from the Shahi Qilla, allowing him to see little except for the massive green Istani flags fluttering over ramparts and minarets jutting into the sky.

  Palvar turned right. Beyond the city’s sand-colored walls, yellow lifeless sands shimmered as far as his eye could see. This side of the walls, though, a sea of greenery and trees stood out in open defiance. He shook his head. Hard to imagine all the hard work that must have been put in to ensure Algaria stood in opposition to the elements.

  Sighing, he turned left. Far in the distance, the ocean glittered blue. Two sail ships were pulling into the harbor. One flew the purple Xin colors, the other carried a sigil he couldn't recognize.

  “We found the stone,” he told himself. “We stopped them.”

  They had caught the stone and avenged the priest’s death. But there was no denying that the death had left more unanswered questions. Who was Bohdan’s accomplice? A rogue magus? How had Bohdan known to expect them at the warehouse? If not Roshan, the magus, nor Inquisitor Fan, then who? How far did this network go?

  “You’re out there,” Palvar muttered, looking over at the Shahi Qilla. “Somewhere in there, plotting again, aren’t you?”

  Stretching his legs on the divan, he began whistling tunelessly. He’d made an enemy in Inquisitor Fan. Not the wisest of moves for one wanting to get ahead in the Istani court. He shrugged. His thoughts drifted over to the dutiful City Guard captain. He exhaled. Captain Jeet Habbra was a good man. One who had went out of his way when he didn't have to.

  The sound of a knock broke his reverie. Something slid through the door.

  Palvar shot up, then ran up to the door. The parchment was sealed. His hands shaking, he brought it over to the window, then looked down at the seal.

  A roaring lion standing in front of the rising sun. The seal of the Sultan of Istan.

  His fingers trembling, Palvar broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

  “We are grateful for your services rendered to the Sultanate. Sultan Mazayd, Keeper of the Divide.”

  “That’s it?” Palvar said, smiling broadly. “Good.”

  Placing the parchment on the table, he started humming.

  The tale continues…

  Hope you’ve enjoyed reading “The Red Throne”.

  * * *

  Palvar faces his most daunting challenge yet in “Crescent Inquisition.”

  * * *

  When the sultan’s family is kidnapped, Palvar must either step away from the case, or break the realm.

  * * *

  Keep up with Palvar in “Crescent Inquisition”.

  About the Author

  Fuad Baloch is an emerging author of fantasy, mystery, and science fiction novels.

  * * *

  To keep up with Fuad, please visit fuadbaloch.com and join the subscription list. In the meantime, you can
read:

  * * *

  The Divided Sultanate series (set in the same world as Palvar’s):

  Blood of a Sultan

  Lions of Istan

  The Broken Winds

  War of the Sultans

  Divine Space

  The Hard Choice

  The Lost Prophet

  The Faithless Prophet

  Lady of the Sands

  Shifting Sands