War of the Sultans Read online

  She pulled him forward, so close his stiffness brushed up against her thigh.

  “I…” he mumbled.

  Jiza tilted her head to the side. She was beautiful. A fantastical painting come to life.

  “You need to focus,” she cooed, her hand traveling down his chest. “Without any distractions.” She grabbed hold of him, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  Shoki yelped, twisting painfully, shards of tingling pleasure spreading through him.

  Jiza didn't let go, a playful smile spreading on her full lips. She moved her other hand toward her shoulder, fumbling for a second with the straps of her dress.

  With a soft rustle, the peshwaz fell away from her body, leaving her naked from head to toe.

  “I… I…think I need to…” Shoki mumbled.

  Still grabbing him with one hand, she reached for his left hand, guiding it toward her face. Her skin was smooth, flawless, perfect. She brought his hand forward to her lips and licked it softly.

  Shoki shivered, caught in a trance.

  Then, she guided his hand down her chin, down her neck, settling it on her pert, perfect breast. “Squeeze it.”

  He did, squirming as she reciprocated his action.

  “So very distracted,” she cooed again.

  Again, she guided his hand, tracing a fiery path down her navel, through brown fuzz, and down to her damp mound.

  “Ah,” croaked Shoki.

  Jiza reached forward, unstrapping the belt holding up his breeches. A small, tiny part of him tried warning him but got drowned by the rush of sensations running through him.

  “So very distracted.”

  Shoki looked down, felt himself blush.

  She reached forward, his manhood rubbing against her mound.

  “Time to clear your mind so you can do what’s needed.”

  Chapter 9

  Nuraya

  “Halt!” shouted a salar running toward them from his post beside a copse of trees, a dozen poorly armed men trailing behind him. “Go no further.”

  Nuraya pulled her reins and nodded at Jinan. Her siphsalar spurred his warhorse forward, stopping right on top of the salar.

  “Get out of our way now or you will get trampled!” Jinan bellowed.

  Nuraya cringed.

  “If he’s not watched,” said Camsh beside her, keeping his voice low so only she could hear him, “he is going to cause trouble.”

  “Aye,” she replied.

  The salar inclined his chin, his nervous eyes flitting between Jinan and the Sultana’s Hands. “I am posted here by the nizam of Ghulamia, and unless you’ve obtained his permission, I cannot let you go forward.”

  Jinan threw his head back and cackled. “I am not going to tell you again. Step away!”

  Nuraya gritted her teeth, then kicked her mare forward. “Salar, we have no intention of staying at Ghulamia. We are simply passing through.”

  The salar began shaking his head, then his eyes found her bright glare, and he froze. “You’re… the sultan’s daughter!”

  “Aye,” she said, raising a hand toward Jinan who now had a murderous look in his eyes.

  “Some sort of a meeting is happening in the town.” The salar shivered. “Men wearing black and gray turbans! Women magi too. The nizam is convinced it’s all going to go sour, and before it does, he wants to make sure no one gets caught up. But, if the sultan’s daughter herself wishes to pass through,” he exchanged a glance with one of the men standing beside him, “then maybe we should accompany you.”

  “Wise call,” growled Jinan.

  “I thank you, Sahib Salar,” said Nuraya. She clicked her heels together and the mare continued on the Imperial Highway.

  The morning air was warmer now that they had turned south-west, traveling through the western provinces. Toward the Reratish forces. Toward the man she had decided to marry. The rebellious streak she had known all her life squirmed within her chest. Despite her decision to deliberate before taking major decisions, the nagging voice warned she was rushing, that she hadn’t given due thought to all that lay ahead. She shrugged the concerns away, knowing the voice would be back again.

  Muttering to himself, Jinan pulled up to her right. She ignored him, marveling at where kismet had brought her.

  Ghulamia.

  Abba had sent Shoki to investigate what was wrong at this very town. From what she could recall, the city guard accompanied by the inquisitor had never made it here after all hell broke loose.

  “My sultana,” came Maharis’s wheezing voice behind her. “I implore you to listen to the just demands of my brethren whilst you’re here. After all—”

  “No!” she declared.

  Maharis coughed, lingering. “You’ve changed, my princess.” He raised a hand as if to preemptively ward off her rebuttal. “Fair enough too. Not even the majesty of nature is immune to the effects of changing seasons. I do know this though. Even when the rope is burned out, it retains the shape of its knot. You, my princess, will do the right thing. It’s just a matter of when not if.”

  Temper flared in her. “Maharis, I won’t be lectured to by the likes of you!”

  The magus bowed his head, then slinked away.

  Her lips pursed, Nuraya continued forward, she and her command staff and the thousand men who continued to grumble over the change of direction she had ordered. Two days had passed since her decision to accede to the Reratish King’s request, and it appeared her men were still unhappy with the path she had chosen for them all. They didn’t see what she did, continued to listen to fanciful fantasies their hearts conjured up, failing to learn from the stark realities around them.

  “Beautiful woods, no?” Ranal was saying at her right side, his high-pitched voice carrying over the clacking of trotting hooves. “I swear the furniture you could make from these neem trees would last decades. No, that’s not right. Centuries! The finished pieces fit for the sultan’s diwan-e-khas, and—” He cursed, swatting at flies hovering over his head, ducking under an overgrown branch. “Argh! Someone should really pay attention to trimming these brambles.”

  Nuraya smiled. The young noble might not be the asset she needed at this time but keeping him around provided a decent enough distraction.

  Another horse trotted up to join her. Her newest counselor.

  “If you wouldn't mind me being honest, I’d like to discuss our course of action,” said Camsh.

  “Son of Madhu Ghiani,” said Nuraya, bracing herself. “I’ve been expecting to hear from you for two days now.”

  Camsh cleared his throat. “Many share your wish for peace, but—”

  “But they couldn't raise their reservations with me directly?” she interjected. Her eyes traveled to Jinan. Had he shared these concerns as well, or was he still in mourning, still moved by vengeance over what had happened at Algaria?

  “Men fear honesty with the powerful,” said Camsh.

  “And living with your father has taught you this honesty?”

  Camsh paused for half a beat. “I can see why you might want to strike a bargain with the Reratish prince, however, I’ve had some experience dealing with their people before. They’re not a race to be trusted. Their leaders lack honor, and their citizens are illiterate peasants easily moved by jingoism. Ten times they’ve invaded the smaller kingdoms to their north in the last fifty years, despite pacts prohibiting such transgressions. Whatever you might wish to seek from them, I fear they wouldn't honor it.”

  Nuraya squeezed her eyes shut for a second, ignoring the nagging voice within her agreeing with him. “Camsh, I have demanded they turn their forces away from all conquered Istani territory before their king’s son might marry me. Can’t you see what a victory that would be, one achieved without shedding a drop of blood? Isn’t that a better alternative than what I’ve tried so far?”

  “But—”

  “I… know your concerns and understand them. But until we’re married, the Reratish will lack any formal claim to these lands. If, after my marriage,
they were to turn back on their word… at least, I’d have bought the local ameers, your father, and my brother more time to prepare for them.”

  Camsh stared at her, his eyes going wide. “You are sacrificing yourself for the sake of buying some time for those who’ve wronged you?”

  “What other choice do I have?” she replied hotly. “It’s not like the nobles of these lands are going to rally around me anytime soon!”

  “My sultana,” he said. “I admire your noble intentions. I really do. But surely, setting up camp in the north will allow plenty of time to settle down, gather allies. Your council’s strategy is wise.”

  She shook her head. “Ahasan is holed up in the north as well. Neither of us would stop from engaging the other if we were in close proximity. All the while, the Reratish and Zakhanan forces would be devouring this great realm. No, this is the only option I do have.”

  “Should we reach out to your brother, see if he’s willing to mount a united defense against the invaders?”

  Nuraya snorted. “You don’t know Ahasan. He’d much rather sell me out than take one step away from his life of leisure.”

  “He’s not the only one we could approach,” Camsh said carefully. “Assuming the one-eyed returns, he might be more amenable.”

  Her insides squirmed. “He’s gone, isn’t he? Besides, I don’t have time to sit on my backside waiting for men who might or might not decide to rescue me.”

  Camsh grew quiet. He didn't agree with her, she knew. But he did seem to have inherited his father’s talent for picking battles worth fighting. He would bring up the matter again. Would keep doing so right until she finally met the Reratish prince.

  He can keep trying. I don’t have the luxury of time.

  Finally, she’d realized what mattered more than anything—Istan. And no one was greater than her sovereignty, not even her.

  They rode on for another mile. Neighs of horses, excited chatter of her men, morning birds chirping in tall trees around them, kept her company as she brooded—another something she had thought herself incapable of.

  She was beaten. Had no options. All her life, this great sultanate had pampered her, and now it was her turn to return the debt she owed. Simple as that.

  As they rounded a bend in the road, she caught her first sight of Ghulamia.

  A small town, not that different from the many others she had passed on the way in. Yet, as she continued to draw closer, she felt a tug at her heart. A foreboding of what was happening there.

  Two riders astride massive warhorses emerged from the trees, blocked their path. Men who knew how to carry themselves on mounts bred for war, their manner relaxed even as they carried large, curved scimitars.

  Men wearing gray turbans.

  “Princess Nuraya,” the shorter rider on the right grunted. Nuraya narrowed her eyes. Where had she seen him before? “You’re not someone I was expecting to see here.”

  “Inquisitor… Altamish Aboor?” she said, finally recalling the man beside Shoki the day Abba had set them out together.

  “Then again, I shouldn't be too surprised. After all, it is you who gave these abominations the misguided courage to challenge our divinely anointed mandate to check their transgressions against society.”

  “We are not abominations,” hissed Maharis, riding forward. His voice was still weak, but anger seemed to have lent amplification to his voice. “We are humans. Powerful, respectable men and women of this world.”

  “Still consorting with magi?” the inquisitor snorted, his bushy mustache twitching. “Princess, you’ve already caused great harm. Turn away now. Let us rein in these abominations, free of your corrupting influence.”

  “She is here to mediate between us,” said Maharis. Nuraya blinked. “And nothing you can do will turn away the daughter of the Iron Sultan.”

  The inquisitor exchanged a glance with his companion.

  “We are at an impasse, Aboor,” said the other inquisitor.

  “One she created!” replied Inquisitor Aboor.

  Heads turned toward her.

  Nuraya inhaled. She’d had no intentions in getting mired in the affairs of inquisitors and magi. Not after what she had done before. Besides, Ghulamia had simply been a stop toward her destination west.

  Then again, she was here, wasn't she?

  Another memory flashed in her mind.

  Abba had wanted her to be a part of what had happened at the town. Now that kismet had brought her here, could she really say no to Abba’s last wish?

  “I am Sultan Anahan’s daughter,” she said, at last. “And I will listen to your arguments.”

  “For centuries, we have been dealt with most unjustly,” an old female magus was saying. Wizened, dignified, the woman would be in her eighties, but her voice carried none of the weaknesses wrought by old age. “Now is the time for us to live like free men and women.”

  “Feral animals cannot be allowed to roam free of their cages!” shouted an inquisitor, a portly man, rising from his chair, his belly straining against the wide rectangular table. “This is not the natural way!”

  Nuraya raised a finger toward the inquisitor. “Is this really the best way to convince others of your argument?”

  Muttering, the inquisitor shuffled back into his chair. Nuraya exhaled, leaned back into her high-backed chair. She’d been listening to their arguments for half a day now. The conversations seemed to revolve around two main refrains: the magi’s insistence on historic wrongs done to them, and the inquisitors showing no flexibility in moving the matter forward.

  What was she doing here wasting her time? This wasn't the real battle—couldn't they all see that too?

  She turned her head around toward Camsh who she had brought into the summit. He nodded as if encouraging her to stay put.

  Nuraya exhaled, wondering whether she should have brought Maharis along as well to help her navigate the various arguments.

  In the cramped, dusty room the nizam of Ghulamia had set aside for this summit, more than ten magi sat facing ten inquisitors. Something so remarkable and fantastic, it still boggled her mind. A third table had also been laid to the side, which she shared with half a dozen scholars from across Istan.

  Once more, she shook her head. The magi were sharing the same room with inquisitors of the Kalb, treating them as equals! As unbelievable as it was, how in Rabb’s name had the nizam managed to get them to all talk together in the first place?

  How had the world changed so much, so suddenly?

  Her thoughts drifted to other matters. The Reratish emissary had requested her to send word over to the city of Qwasad to allow the Reratish diplomatic delegation there to enter the vast northern castle that delineated the western realm from the north. That had troubled her, as it seemed to indicate Prince Sabrish was planning to go beyond the western realm.

  “Perhaps, your people do have… valid concerns,” said an inquisitor, scratching his gray beard, his turban set on the table in front of him. “Return to the fold, and we can negotiate the manner in which the Kalb look after you.”

  “Imprison us, more like!” scoffed a middle-aged magus.

  “We are being reasonable,” said the inquisitor. “You know that if our leader, Riyan Hambur, had been here to negotiate, he’d have shown you no leniency whatsoever. Stand down, return to the fold, and we will treat you justly.”

  “Destroy our blood phials as a sign of your good faith,” said the woman magus, “and we might actually talk.”

  The inquisitor chuckled, spreading his hands. “And lose the only leverage—the threat of severing—we do have over you?”

  Nuraya drummed her fingers on the table. They were truly at an impasse here. All she had achieved was realizing why both parties were even talking. The magi, for all their power, couldn't break away from the hold the inquisitors had over them through the phials they could use to sever them from jadu. She had no idea how that happened, or what that entailed, but the threat was enough to keep these monsters civil for
the moment. And whether she liked it or not, the inquisitors were proving themselves surprisingly reasonable—even if they remained stubborn in their way—willing to negotiate, instead of carrying out their threats.

  “Do not press us,” said the old magus once more, her voice acquiring a dark, foreboding tone. “You do not know what we’re capable of.”

  “We know what your lot is capable of, Naila,” replied the inquisitor sitting directly in front of her. “Some of you are already dabbling in the forbidden arts. Blood magic.” The scholars beside her gasped. “What do you intend to do, huh? Return our world to the dark ages where abominations prowled, and humans of all races cowered behind wards?”

  “Nonsense,” declared Naila. “We’d never—”

  “Our order has irrefutable proof,” interrupted the inquisitor. “Truly, your people go too far.”

  Naila fiddled with a parchment. “If it’s true, we will work beside you, alongside you. But treat us as your equals, not property.”

  “If you do not return to the fold, we will have no choice except to start severing your people from vile jadu,” replied the same inquisitor, his voice calm, full of steel. “Many of you will go mad. Many more will die. Is that what you really want?”

  A strained silence fell upon the room.

  “Daughter of the great sultan,” said a dusty old scholar to her left, leaning forward to fix his rheumy eyes on her. “What say you?”

  Nuraya clicked her tongue. She had already sided with the magi once, without fully listening to the argument laid out by the inquisitors. Now that she had heard them both, she wasn't sure what to make of it all. Both sides seemed to have legitimate concerns. But more importantly, she failed to see how that helped her cause to rid Istan of the invaders.

  “Historically, the precedent is indeed for the Kalb to be responsible for the… welfare of the magi folk,” she said softly. “Perhaps, in these dark days, tradition is something we can invoke to guide the way forward. Unite and defend our lands and only then settle our internal disputes.”