Lions of Istan Read online

  Ahasan’s men looked at each other, then turned to watch their leader, who looked increasingly unsure. They didn’t walk away, though, their swords still within easy reach.

  Nuraya pirouetted around. Four guards stood behind her. Two that her mother had sent after her, accompanied by two more she hadn’t seen before. She raised her hand.

  “Gods’ guts!” snarled the grand vizier. “Step away, all of you, before you fools start something I cannot put down.” At the unexpected curse coming from the minister, the men blinked, their hands falling away from the scabbards.

  Still, they didn’t walk off.

  “Perhaps,” said Queen Aleena, her voice distant, cold, “we should let the funeral arrangements take place in peace.”

  “The funeral?” Nuraya repeated. The iron in her determination snapped, the reality of what was happening crashing into her with the weight of a thousand bricks.

  Abba was dead, or so these men alleged, and while she clamored to hold his hand, these cursed people played politics.

  She shook her head, feeling the wet threaten to gather in her eye. They were all playing parts. Ahasan, her foolish, stupid brother positioning himself to take over the throne. The grand vizier playing the peacemaker without taking sides. The queen acknowledging her suddenly diminished role without complaint.

  Histories that she had read and ignored came at her now. Far too many times, siblings had to resort to wars to settle succession to the Peacock Throne. Was this what was happening here?

  “I…” she said, her voice breaking. “I just want to see Abba.”

  “Come, child,” said her mother again. “Let’s seek another way.”

  “No,” she said, her voice dark, tinged with emotions far too many to sift through. “Not until I’ve seen him.”

  The grand vizier stepped forward, his thin, long beard fluttering in the wind. “Princess, listen to your mother. I’ll speak with Prince Ahasan myself and send message to your brother Prince Kinas in the north to ensure there’s a… peaceful way forward.”

  “A peaceful way…” Nuraya repeated the words, marveling at how they could mask the evil malcontent brewing in men’s hearts.

  She exhaled.

  The bells were still pealing around her. Not just within the Shahi Qilla or the temples in the wider complex. Like the all-enveloping sunlight, they came from everywhere now, all temples within Algaria joining in the lament.

  The city mourned its ruler. Even as she stood here, news of the passing would be traveling like wildfire across the sultanate, all the way from the rich forests of Buzdar in the west, to the desert oasis towns of the east.

  None of that was her concern. Neither the mourning of others nor any machinations being worked up in the Shahi Qilla.

  Her vision blurred. She was just a child who wanted to see her father. Gritting her teeth, she motioned to her guards. “Clear the path forward.”

  The four men shared worried glances, drew their swords. Ahasan’s men drew theirs as well without waiting for their leader. Nuraya arched an eyebrow, her lips quivering into a grin. However the history books recorded this incident, this act of defiance was due to the simple desire of a daughter to see her late father one final time.

  “Attack!”

  “Belay that,” came her mother’s loud voice. “We’re turning around. Nuraya, do so this very second.”

  Disbelieving, she whirled to see her mother. “You’ve got to be jesting! How are—”

  “Come!” said Queen Aleena. “We shall talk.” Then, motioning to the guards and the magus, she turned her back, headed for the harem.

  For a long moment, Nuraya stood rooted to the ground. In her hurry to get here, her addled mind heavy with concern, she’d been worrying about all the wrong things. This wasn’t the time to bemoan the state of her dress or hair, rather for the realization of how few men listened just to her.

  “Princess,” pleaded Mona, her heart-shaped face twisted with fear. “Come. Let the grand vizier find a way.”

  “I will, my princess,” assured the grand vizier, offering a short bow. “Prince Ahasan will see reason.”

  Prince Ahasan, she noted dryly. How long before he became crown prince to him, too?

  Not that it mattered to her.

  Her fingernails digging into her palms, she turned her chin to look the wizened man in the eyes. “You’d better.”

  Mustering up all the strength and courage due an Istani princess, she turned away from the rooms where Abba lay quiet.

  Chapter 5

  Shoki

  Salar Ihagra liked sharing details of the first time he’d killed a man. A giant mercenary from the plains of distant Kur’sh beyond the ocean, howling in his guttural tongue as a young Salar Ihagra speared him through the gut. No language had joined the men, yet according to Shoki’s commander, a bond had been formed between the two in that moment, one so intimate and so special that none in the world shared it.

  Each time the salar told the tale, he sighed as he recalled the rattle of the dying man’s breath, the eyes settling for a breath before lolling away.

  Shoki felt none of that, even three days after the attack. He shivered, one hand clutching his jerkin around him as they continued to ride west, their long shadows stretching out behind them. He had killed a man. A living, breathing man who no longer existed. And worst of all, Shoki didn’t even know what he’d looked like. A shadow brimming with potential, a dagger in his hand, reduced to a heap of flesh never to rise again.

  He’d seen dead men before, of course, had even helped solve a case courtesy a flash of intuition beside Salar Ihagra. But he’d never been the one taking a life before.

  Swallowing the rising gorge, he tore his eyes toward his companion. Inquisitor Altamish Aboor rode easily, the rider and the mare moving as one. Again, Shoki saw the graceful movements, the proud mannerisms of the Sultan’s Body reflected in the inquisitor. He might not have been tasked to guard the sultan personally, but no doubt they had shared the same teachers.

  “Everything alright with you, boy?” asked the inquisitor without turning his head back.

  How in gods’ names does he always seem to know whenever I am troubled? Shoki coughed. “Yeah…”

  “You did well, boy. Lucky shot or not, it landed true.”

  Shoki squirmed. Not a topic he wanted to dwell on. Nor what had happened immediately in the aftermath with his breeches.

  “Killed my first so long ago,” continued the inquisitor, unperturbed by Shoki’s misgiving. “I don’t even remember what it felt like.”

  “Hmm,” offered Shoki, adjusting his weight on the saddle. His thighs screamed. Shoki was certain the skin would slough off if he as much as touched it. Was that what a mere three days of hard, nonstop riding did to those unaccustomed? “Um… we going to be stopping soon?”

  “Wanna piss?”

  Shoki felt his cheeks redden. The inquisitor didn’t look back, nor did the voice seem to carry any malice in it. Shoki sucked at his teeth. “Erm… I think the… horses might do with a bit of rest. Wouldn’t want to ride them to their death, eh?” He forced a chuckle he didn’t feel.

  “They’ll be fine.”

  Rolling his eyes, Shoki stuck out his tongue. Oh, what would he not give for twenty, no, even thirty lashes right about now? Even the latrine duty only the newest recruits got put through. Anything so long as it earned him respite from this task-master sent from the deepest levels of hell.

  His chestnut snorted. Shoki sighed, resigned to a fate in which his thighs would have been worn down to mere inches, his bones rattling with the clacking horse hooves.

  Shoki’s mood darkened. At the last campsite, a small no-name garrison of the sultan’s third regiment stationed in the rural Jian province, the men had scoffed at the bow-legged walk he had been reduced to. Some had offered a few creative reasons why a young man might walk with his legs apart having spent nights with a mature man. The ideas had produced great gales of laughter. Unsmiling, the inquisitor had watche
d on from the sidelines, never uttering a word.

  Not that anyone would be laughing at Shoki at the next campsite. With his knees in the state they were in, he doubted he’d be able to even dismount.

  Shoki cleared his throat. “Erm… can I ask a question?”

  “What if I said no?” the inquisitor growled, his voice barely rising over the horse hooves.

  “Probably wouldn’t stop me,” Shoki admitted, too tired to dissemble.

  “Go on then, boy.”

  Shoki licked his lips, suddenly unsure whether he really wanted to go ahead. Riding companion or not, Altamish was a Kalb inquisitor, someone who hunted beings as powerful as the magi. Was it wise to pester a man like that? Fear almost managed to lock up his tongue. Then his heart stirred, a rusty key rattling in its ancient keyhole. “I… erm… saw you converse with imperial spies at the last campsite. I wouldn’t have known who they were generally, but I’ve seen their like before at the court.”

  “Very observant of you.”

  Shoki exhaled, his fingers sweaty on the reins, a dozen or so birds taking to flight in the light blue sky. “W-was there a message from the Kalb Head or the grand vizier per chance?” Have I been called back? Have they realized I am a waste on this expedition?

  The inquisitor kept quiet.

  “Or…” Shoki persisted, part of him cautioning himself to not press the matter, yet another too curious to let bygones be bygones, “p-perhaps a m-message from someone else?” Even Salar Ihagra.

  “None of your concern, boy,” came the curt response. Altamish Aboor turned his scowling face toward him. “If you ever have the great fortune of joining the sultan’s cavalry, you’ll hear a saying: best way to keep a secret is to ensure no one knows it.”

  Shoki blinked. Learning new sayings besides, he wasn’t convinced of the haughty attitude that also got dished out in those ranks, the way all their upper lips stiffened up. The inquisitor turned his heavy-lidded eyes toward him, his big drooping mustache covering his large teeth as he smiled.

  Blood chilled in Shoki’s veins. One of the soldiers last night had recognized the inquisitor as ex-Patedar Aboor, first through the breach at Kohkam, one of the northernmost castles of the Istani Sultanate. The inquisitor had apparently gotten wounded during the assault, had still led the fight, and came out victorious. Afterward, he’d been hailed as a military hero, then ceremoniously exited from the sultan’s cavalry. How had he ended up being an inquisitor, though, was something the soldier hadn’t known.

  “Um…” he finally mumbled, realizing the inquisitor was still looking at him.

  “Take this from me and never dabble in secrets.” He raised a hand, the reigns curled up in his fist. “Instead, be like the djinn: let whatever you hear turn into wisps of smoke and ash or flutter away like the pari folk, lest the secrets taint you.”

  Shoki blinked. What was he meant to reply here? Luckily, the inquisitor looked away. Shoki peered over the horizon. All day, they’d been able to spy distant flags, markers of a garrison in the west. They were closer now. He squinted. Ant-like figures and horses moved around a blazing fire, the skies darkening overhead.

  Relief and a promise of succor spread through Shoki’s veins. Altamish Aboor might have been born on a saddle, but Shoki could very well do with some rest. And if these soldiers wanted to make a song and dance about him, then so be it. If he’d had more energy, he’d have used his wits, but considering how tired he was, he didn’t really give a damn.

  Curiosity gripped his mind. Shoki chewed on his lower lip, forced himself to look at the treetops, pinched himself. Still, the banal questions continued to smash around within his skull, demanding to be unleashed.

  “Sahib Inquisitor?” he said.

  “What?”

  “I…” Shoki shook his head, one hand tightening his grip over the reins. “You mentioned djinn and the pari. Are they really… real? I mean, my father has always dismissed them as figments of imagination. Tales the old housewives have spun over centuries, he says. Have… you ever come across them before?”

  The inquisitor chuckled, taking Shoki by surprise. Was it something he had said or something not quite right with the inquisitor himself after he had chased magi most of his adult life? The man seemed to alternate between states of hot and cold faster than any woman Shoki had ever known. Not that he had known many.

  “You’re lucky to have never encountered them,” drawled the inquisitor.

  “So… are they real?”

  The inquisitor grunted, then turned his head back toward the curving road. Shoki rolled his eyes, grimaced, and kept quiet. For another mile or so, their horses clacked down the gently sloping road. “Have you ever seen the air?” asked the inquisitor.

  “The… air?” Shoki coughed in what he hoped was a delicate, courtly manner of feigning ignorance without being condescending to a man who answered questions with riddles. His croaking voice somewhat spoiled the desired effect, unfortunately.

  The inquisitor chuckled and didn’t elaborate any further.

  They rode silently for a few more minutes. Then the inquisitor stood up in his stirrups. Puzzled, Shoki followed his glance. They were close enough to make out vague details of the soldiers’ uniforms. He squinted. All appeared to be in order. A small campsite housing five hundred or so of the sultan’s forces, their tents stretching out to either side. Behind the tents, a distant city rose, faint lights twinkling over the parapets.

  “Yew-haw,” shouted the inquisitor, spurring his mare.

  No! Shoki’s horse responded immediately as well, just like it had before, once more almost succeeding in throwing him off.

  Clutching the pommel with all his might, Shoki struggled to keep his eyes open. Not because he didn’t want the inquisitor to make fun of him again, but because he wanted to know he was slipping before he fell on the ground.

  Their horse hooves thundered in the relative quiet of the approaching evening, a cloud of dust billowing behind them. Minutes passed. An eternity.

  Finally feeling the horse slowing down, Shoki dared to look up. The campsite was nearly upon them. Soldiers were drawing their weapons, rising from their spots around the cook pots, the sight of which made Shoki’s mouth water.

  “Where is your salar?” barked the inquisitor as they rode up to the first rank of soldiers. Against the setting sun, the inquisitor, clad in his dark traveling cloak and the gray turban, his magnificent horse lathered up and snorting imperiously, cut an imposing figure.

  A tall soldier raised an arm. “Over there, Sahib.”

  The inquisitor dismounted in one smooth motion, giving no sign of the crooked leg, then limped over to the command tent the soldier had pointed at.

  The flaps parted and a portly officer stepped out, a drumstick in one hand, his bald pate sweaty. “Who in the Creator’s name are you?”

  The inquisitor glared at the salar. “Have you got an imperial spy in your midst?”

  “An imperial spy?” repeated the captain slowly, his large eyes flitting between the inquisitor and Shoki.

  “Don’t waste my time.” Altamish pointed at the row of horses to the left. “Black horse, orange harness, the sickle sigil. Call him a spy or messenger, he is here. What news does he carry?”

  The salar pinched the bridge of his nose with a spare hand, his eyes darting about as if he were thinking up an excuse. Happy for the distraction, Shoki clambered down his horse while no one was watching. The salar exhaled, paused to chew into the drumstick; then his eyes fell once more upon the inquisitor’s gray turban. “The sultan is dead.”

  Shoki blinked. “Dead?”

  No one replied.

  Altamish’s shoulders sagged. “Have you verified the news, Salar?”

  “The imperial messenger carries the seal of the grand vizier himself.”

  Shoki shook his head. Sultan Anahan—dead? The very idea seemed preposterous. Unbelievable. A bad joke that made no one laugh.

  “I see,” said the inquisitor, one hand rising to
pat the pouch strapped to his waist. “How fares Algaria?”

  The captain shrugged, spread his hands. “About what one would expect at a time like this. The eldest prince is jockeying to position himself on the Peacock Throne. Kinas, the middle prince, is rushing back from Kohkam, leaving the citadel there unguarded. The general populace of the city is at unrest, the city guard apparently unable to maintain the peace.”

  “And fires have broken out,” offered one of the soldiers, his gut straining against his jerkin.

  “Ah yes,” agreed the salar, pausing to take another bite. “About what you’d expect at a time like this.”

  “Where did the fires break out?” asked Shoki, his heart suddenly beating fast.

  The soldier shrugged. “I don’t know the capital. Some slum near the mercantile quarter from what I heard.”

  “Slums always go up in flames first,” offered the bald salar. “Whores, tavern-keeps and their residences.”

  Shoki bristled. “Don’t speak like this when you don’t know the people who live there!”

  The inquisitor raised a hand toward him. Shoki ignored him, continuing to glare at the soldiers even as the salar chewed nonchalantly.

  “Restrain yourself, boy,” said the inquisitor, his voice cold, steady. “When the lion dies, the hyenas discover courage. Nothing new about that.”

  Shoki was shaking his head, the lethargy in his limbs forgotten for the moment. Then the ramifications of the death finally hit him. “If… the sultan is no more, doesn’t that mean our mission has ceased as well? After all, s-surely, at a time like this, Algaria needs all the city guards it can call upon to keep the peace!”

  “Has the rogue magus been caught?” asked the inquisitor. The salar looked up sharply, the men around him doing a double take, their eyes growing weary. “Have we received orders from the leader of the Kalb or even the grand vizier saying otherwise? We are men of honor. When a mission is given, no matter what the odds, or risks, a soldier always carries it out.”