Tower of the Arkein: Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2, page 25
“Why didn’t he come here himself?”
“My master is busy, heading to the Isle of Galdor as we speak.”
The queen slowly shook her head and lowered her eyes.
“The doors are closed. He will not find what he seeks there.”
Peter glanced up and felt the skin at his neck pull uncomfortably. His arms ached and sent a new flash of pain through his mind in a startling display of bright colors.
He took a moment to calm himself. To let the pain quiet down before responding.
“He hasn’t failed thus far,” Peter said, “Not at Vintas Pass, not in the A’sh, not even at Trenton’s destruction.”
A look of admiration and pride momentarily marked his features.
“He was at Trenton when it fell?”
Peter only nodded.
“He survived Vintas Pass? Then he was closer to the Kan Savasci then he knew,” she stated reflexively.
“What is this annalist’s plan?” she asked.
This was Peter’s chance. If he could convince her of their cause, then perhaps all was not lost.
“To save Verold. To find the Kan Savasci, to understand his weakness, and to convince him to end this war.”
Silence once again settled its heavy weight over them. Peter counted the seconds until they became minutes. Each moment amplified by his beating heart.
Thea of Bristol, Queen of Gemynd, studied Peter. She traced the lines about his eyes. She noted the rope burns about his neck. Then she nodded slowly to herself. Her mind clearly working. Perhaps there was still time. Perhaps hope had not relegated itself to the furthest reaches of hell.
“I will help save Verold,” she finally said, “but your master will have to come and see me if he wishes my help.”
Peter felt his heart leap within his chest. Did she say she would help?
“Perhaps a letter of good faith would convince him your grace,” Peter said delicately.
“Perhaps a telling of my first encounter with the Kan Savasci will convince him,” she replied.
Peter smiled in the darkness.
“For the annalist, for Bodig, for Verold,” he whispered to himself.
Chapter 54
“History provides the context of the present that only the truly curious understand.” Anthology of Gemynd, Herlewin
“This is my account of events leading to my first meeting with the Kan Savasci…
…the sky was an iron grey as it often was in Gemynd. It was no different on that fateful day. The day that changed the course of history. The day that re-shaped my life.
Before I delve into that particular day, you need to understand a little about my home. The place my family had grown roots deeper than the peddling kings of Bodig. Gemynd was once the greatest city in the Three Kingdoms.
It is unique as a capital; it is unique in its history. There is a rich tapestry that weaves through the whole kingdom, but there is something different about the City of Islands, The City that Never Forgot.
I think I will start with some of that history and the influences upon her. This way you can understand not only the city, but you can better understand where I come from and who I am. By the end of this letter I will have proven myself to you, especially if my suspicions of who you are turn out to be correct.
Let’s begin with a brief understanding of the kingdom of Gemynd. Only by doing this will you understand the importance of my family and thereby understand me and to a lesser extend my relationship with the one you call Kan Savasci.
Before the First Age there was a group known only as the Ancien. They lived to the west in the mini-kingdoms of Mende and Winter’s Bind. They were the first group of men to have settled, cultivated crops and spread civilization.
You know, as well as I do, that many would argue the Proto-men were here before the Ancien and had migrated from Templas by simple reed boats. I do not dissuade that idea; however, I do not believe they had formed a large enough footprint to have developed or influenced early Gemynd the way some historians believe.
The Ancien built an empire that spanned the entire north from the Imperium Gulf to the Black Sea. From the northern tip of Staggered Falls to the edge of the River Lif. At the height of their empire a feud among the old gods broke out. The god-king Huta, son of Ansuz sought out Balder, who together wreaked devastation upon our lands. Draccus fire engulfed the cities and burnt the lands. The Ancien Empire fell.
This left the north open for invasion. The Mendian men, also known as the Mountain People, came down from Kynd’s Point and spread east and west. From the Gwhelt came the Wildmen. These two groups clashed and left a pocket of unclaimed territory near Lake Stevol. This pocket was made up of islands. Small groups of the Ancien still lived here, and the remaining Ancien gathered. It is here that they formed the capital city, then known as Onus, but more often referred to as the Blue City.
As the city slowly grew and rebuilt itself from the ashes a new religion was sweeping across the lands. Gemynd, son of Dominer had traveled north and brought word of Salvare. Desperate to forget the Old Gods and angry at the destruction they had brought, people turned to the new god and to Gemynd as their new leader.
The Blue City, as Gemynd was known back then, grew prosperous under his reign and under the great families that were begotten power by him. They were Bristol, Cox, and Harland. By now you may see where I am going with this, for Bristol is my house, my family.
Some would say Bristol was a near equal to Geobold. We had an equal number of lands. We owned and controlled the second greatest smithy in Gemynd. While the Cox had their sheep and silos and the Harland’s had their mines and minor armories, we had the mills. Without us there was no bread. And without bread you have no army.
As for my family…
I grew up in a household of men. Although my mother was around, she was meek. I had two brothers. They were older and bullies. In a way, I’m grateful for that. They made me understand Verold isn’t fair. If you wanted something, you had to take it.
Too often I see people begging, crying, complaining. They all claim life isn’t fair and that they deserve so much better. I stopped begging for mercy when I was six. I stopped crying when I was eight. I stopped complaining by ten. Life can be generous for those willing to take from it.
My father, Lord Bristol as most called him, was a fair and decent man for the most part. He was the head of the house. He was often busy, the competition between the Great Houses of Gemynd was fierce. Each house was expected to make a great show of support to the king through public work projects and supporting the Isle of Castle Forge.
Lord Bristol was no exception. He managed the mills and smithy. He ensured the movement of grain from the mills to the silos, to the bakeries, and to the king. He ensured weapons were made to standard and supplied our house knights and the king’s soldiers. But it wasn’t enough. None of us were fully prepared for the scale of the revolt.
Forgive me for my apparent wandering, and lack of specifics, but in an effort to remain brief, while still painting a clear picture, I am omitting that which is unimportant and including only that which shaped me and brought me into contact with Aeden.
So, that brings me back to the beginning. Back to that fateful day that changed my life and set me on a path to meeting the Kan Savasci.
It’s strange how one can live each day taking for granted the obvious. I recall seeing my mother, yet rebuffing a minor bit of affection. I remember getting into a fight with my father and storming out of the castle.
I was so angry that day that I failed to notice the obvious. I ignored the thousand little signs that indicated a pending revolution. I cannot fault myself now I realize, but only learn from those mistakes of ignorance and youth.
All the major houses ignored the signs. Sure, we increased our guard. The king imprisoned more conspirators and publicly executed those he felt deserved it, as an effort to deter. Yet, fear is only one side of power. The nobility, so caught up in the social dynamics of wealth, could not recognize the obvious. People were hungry. People were afraid. People were angry. Gemynd was ripe for revolution.
Chapter 55
“The greatest mark of adolescence is physical maturity coupled with psychological irresponsibility.” Book of Muses, Library of Galdor
I remember that Vintas day like it was yesterday. The wind howled by my window. Fresh snow fell about the city. And my father and I argued.
It’s funny how anger and regret can sear the memory unlike any other. I do have a few happy memories, but they pale in comparison to struggle, heartache, and pain. That day was a day of heartache. It was a day of remembered pain.
My handmaidens had come to my room early that day. I was bathed. I was dressed. Finally, I was scented in perfumed oils, as my hair was brushed and done in the latest Gemynd fashion. Why you may ask? For if you knew me, you’d know how I detested such social graces.
It was all for my father. He insisted our family courted the family Cox. Together, he said, we’d become more powerful than Geobold.
And so, I waited. I struggled to breathe in the tight clothing. I shivered in my lack of warm furs. And I fumed at being treated like a prize possession to be shown off. When Millicent Cox arrived with his son and a small retinue of servants, I was less than pleasant.
Millicent’s son, Gregory, complimented me. He fawned over my beauty, and spoke of how I’d be happy birthing and raising his sons. I responded despondently and rebuffed his attempts at humor.
I didn’t wish to birth children. I didn’t much care for marriage. I had watched my own parents’ marriage. If that was any indicator of what marriage was, I wanted nothing to do with it.
Consequently, when Millicent, Gregory and their servants left, my father turned on me. He spoke quietly and with anger in his voice. He said I was spoiled, and that no proper daughter in the house Bristol or otherwise, would act with such disrespect. He let me know how I was a failure and have always been a failure. He questioned, what purpose did I serve as a woman in house Bristol, if not to wed and bring greater strength to the family?
I listened to his tirade. I attempted to argue back, thinking on Gregory’s dripping nose and nasally voice. I thought on a lifetime with a man I had no affection for. I dwelled on the misery of it all. Most of all, I wanted my father to understand me.
I then went to my rooms. I cried. Then I fumed, feeling sorry for myself. Then I became angry and thought of my options.
I changed out of those horrible clothes. I put on my warmest winter clothing, and packed a simple bag. If my father felt me unworthy to be his daughter, then I would leave and let him think on it.
That is exactly what I did. I sent my handmaidens away on some “special” errand, and I slipped out onto the Vintas streets of Gemynd.
I remember the snow swirling about in angry clouds of discontent. I remember looking about and feeling so alone on that empty street. I was angry, saddened and altogether too young to understand the magnitude of unfolding events.
I left the Isle of Repose, and immersed myself among the common folk. I sat amidst them, drinking my hot cider, and pretended to listen. Really, I seethed and thought. I was so consumed by thought that I failed to see the inn fill with people. I failed to realize the rising levels of discourse, the fervent anger. It was as if my very emotions had bled out of me and stimulated the crowd to greater levels of discontentment.
By this time, night had fallen over the city. I debated whether to go back home or not. But the angry face of my father was the catalyzing force that kept me away. I had no desire to see him so soon. To forgive his words. To understand his position.
With all the maturity and knowledge of a young, teenage girl, I decided to follow the crowd. For some reason, their angry purpose mirrored mine and made me feel understood.
The crowd spilled out into the streets and gathered at the Gates of History, the southern entrance to Gemynd. It was the end of the great North South Road. It was the birthplace of an ancient history forgotten by most.
Torches lit the scene, splashing light and warmth. Despite the Vintas chill, I was warm. I was squeezed on all sides by the growing masses. Great throngs of people swelled like a tide against a storm wall.
Shouting began at one end of the crowd and swept through, carried by unseen voices. Then silence befell the people. The silence was temporary, for another voice broke it. The accent was different. I could tell this person was not of Gemynd, but from where? I couldn’t place it.
People started chanting.
“Down with Geobold!”
“Burn the churches!”
“Stop the taxes!”
The angry weight of these words began to settle on my adolescent mind. As I looked about I noticed that people were holding tools of various sort. Yet, their purpose wasn’t for farming. Not that night. They were makeshift weapons. The people were hungry. The people were angry. I was staring at the beginning of a revolution.
I had read about revolutions before, The Siege of Denner, the Collapse of Staggered Falls, the Thousand Year War, even the White Tide of Sawol. But, standing amidst the crowd, feeling the swelling anger, that was something entirely different.
I was scared. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be within the safe confines of my rooms, behind stone walls, and guarded by Bristol’s hardened men.
I pushed my way through the crowds as more words stretched across the throngs to reach my ears.
“One of Salvare’s own has spoken of the atrocities of the rich, the despicable acts of the nobles, taxing, taking, and raping these lands. He has helped lead you to our own path, the path of the righteous!”
These words were laced with that same foreign accent.
I didn’t care.
I needed to leave. I needed to warn my family. I needed to be home.
Now I do not wish to bore you with the details of that night, and I don’t wish to relive the atrocities and fear I endured. Instead I will summarize the events thusly.
I failed to make it home in time to warn my family. I watched as my home burned. I fled as the streets filled with angry citizens, looting and burning their way through the richer neighborhoods.
I couldn’t think of where to go. I had remembered something my father had always said. If things were to get bad enough, he’d flee to Petra’s Landing. He had often talked of the crumbling state of affairs and Geobold’s weak and feckless leadership. I just never thought I’d be alive to see the current state of affairs collapse before my very eyes.
I made my way to the docks. I moved from shadow to shadow, desperate to hide from the masses.
It was from the hidden shadows that I first heard, then saw my father. He was upon the edge of the docks. He wore his fine wolf fur. I remember that fur. It had been a gift from the family Harland in exchange for a small smithy.
He had shouted at a departing barge, filled with distant, indiscernible persons layered in furs. At that moment, I was desperate to run out to him. To apologize. To seek safety in his strong arms. I wanted things to go back to the way they were.
Yet I was frozen.
I don’t know if it was fear. The distant screams and sounds of a burning city were a furious reminder of men’s capacity for violence. Had I been so swept up in the social tide of indignant rage that I failed to question irrational thought?
I don’t know if it was anger. Had he come looking for me? Where were my brothers? My mother? Was he simply trying to save himself or had they all perished as well?
I decided to act. I had long before learned that inaction led to victimization. I was not a victim of circumstance no more than I was a victim of fear.
Just as I moved from my place of concealment, a group of men, drawn by his shouts, approached. They noted my father’s spirited horse, his fine clothes, his wolf-skin fur. I watched as they slaughtered him as though he were a pig at market.
I still remember the screams. I awake to those screams…
It was from there that I made my long journey south. I hid when possible. I begged where needed. I stole when I felt it necessary.
I, however, was lost. I was without purpose. I was very much alone and afraid.
I crossed the great River Lif for the first time in my life and made my way westward, slowly, until I finally came upon the port city of Water’s Gate. It was there that I met the Kan Savasci. It was there that my life had begun its greatest transformation and I was remolded along with it.
It was there that we made our way to the Isle of Galdor, two broken souls, seeking to reshape our lives into something sharper, something stronger.
PART FOUR
Isle of Galdor
Chapter 56
“We all experience pain, but only some of us suffer.” Canton of Sawol
The annalist looked upon the ruined gate of the great university that once graced the edge of Imp’s Landing. His stomach tightened and his head pounded uncomfortably as if hidden memories of a distant atrocity were struggling to climb free.
The University of Galdor had been one of the greatest establishments of learning in all of Verold. It had been purposely set upon the Isle of Galdor, removed from the political squabbling of the Imperium, removed from the Untamed of Dimutia, and even farther from the reclusive empire of Templas.
It had been a beacon of hope to some. It had been a pillar of tolerance and understanding to others. But the grand experiment that had lasted over a millennium had come crashing down. Anger, fear and most of all vengeance, had galvanized the few against the many.
The annalist felt the tugging hands of memory attempt to pull him from the present as he picked his way past the grand entrance. Flowering plants had overgrown the large courtyard. Vines smothered the burnt Calenite pillars. Humidity hung thickly over it all.
The annalist ignored the chattering monkeys peering down upon him. His memory burned with what he had learned at Water’s Gate. The Bane of Verold had been there. It was there that the Kan Savasci had further stoked the ire of the emperor’s hidden soldiers.
