The Broken Winds (Divided Sultanate Book 3) by Baloch Fuad

Author:Baloch, Fuad [Baloch, Fuad]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Red Crescent
Published: 2019-07-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Shoki

Istan spread out in all directions as Shoki surveyed the surroundings from his vantage point atop the hill. Mountains to the north, dense forests of Zakhanan behind him in the east, plains turning to arid desert land to the west. The perfect meeting place. One well worth retreating to from the Zakhanan lands. Yes, he’d added more distance between him and Sehlour, but sometimes to leap ahead, one had to step back first.

Despite the heat of the day—he’d come to quite like the constant chill in the far east—he shivered. Istan! The land that had been taken from his ancestors. Strange how it continued to be called that even when divided between Reratish, Zakhanan, and a dozen ameers who had declared independence. Almost as if, in their heart of hearts, everyone knew that like the sun rising after the darkest of nights, the Istani crown would be restored once more. And that the present arrangement was a mere aberration, slated to be wiped clean soon enough.

He adjusted his eye patch, rocking sideways on his feet. Boots scrunched behind him and he forced his nerves to settle.

“They are here,” came Salar Ihagra’s calm, collected voice.

“How many?” Shoki asked. A silly question that meant nothing, would change nothing.

“Twenty. Ten each.”

“Not just the magi then?”

“They’re joined by representatives of those who penned the letter.”

Shoki scoffed, his attempt coming out as a petulant whine. “Representatives of the Malik kings.” He shook his head, still not used to the idea. It was one thing grudgingly coming to accept a fact, but quite another to accept the burden it offered. Gods’ guts, what was he going to do?

He did know one thing. He did need all the help he could. His well was weak, his connection tenuous with the corruption seeping in. He’d tried prying through the barrier in the east over and over again but failed. Besides, for all else that needed doing, he was forced to lay the groundwork now.

Exhaling, Shoki turned around. Salar Ihagra looked resplendent in his freshly polished armor, cutting a dashing figure outlined against the grimy soldiers milling about behind him. Five hundred of them now. Strange that despite how many men died in foolish wars, more always came forward to take their place. Not even a week since his visit at the cemetery, and already the land was brimming with more able-bodied men, willing to lay their lives at his command.

Most of the men were young, quite a few younger even than Shoki, judging by the teenage acne on some of their faces. Men—no, boys really—who’d heard of him and decided to come seek him. He’d tried shunning them away at first—wanting seasoned warriors instead—but they persisted, refusing to go away.

Salar Ihagra wasn’t too pleased either, Shoki could tell, but at least the salar saw an opportunity. He was still holding out for mercenary companies from Fojoro and Polino to join their cause. But like Shoki, he seemed willing to wait for the moment.

Doubts gnawed at Shoki. Not

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