Savants of Humanity E-Book

Joshua Buller

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Six years have passed since the Scholar, Hawke Morau, saved Micasa from a life of slavery. After restoring Hawke's soul, the two have journeyed across the land of Astra, the last bastion of humanity, and worked together to help their people.

But soon, a single letter sets off a chain of events that forever alters the fate of their world. With the chance to finally confront the person behind their people's struggles, Micasa and Hawke race against time to build an alliance capable of facing the demonic horde head-on.

Yet even humanity itself may stand between the two, and their goal.

Leseprobe

Savants of Humanity

The Scholar’s Legacy - Book II

Joshua Buller

Copyright (C) 2017 Joshua Buller

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Prologue: From the Desk of Lord Uraj

To Whom It May Concern:

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Uraj Kuznetsov, and I've been requested by my dear associate Micasa to shed some light on a particular incident that precluded the events she will soon divulge. First, though, I should explain who I am.

I've been known by many names throughout my life: Lord Uraj, King Kuznetsov, and The Forge. Each title carried its own weight, but all of them meant the same thing - protector of humanity. It was not a light mantle I wore, but it was a responsibility I had to shoulder.

Another once bore the same burden that I did, the man whose tale young Micasa has taken to recounting: Hawke Morau. Lord Hawke, King Morau, The Scholar. His own titles were just as ridiculous, but like me, he took them for his own and did what he thought was right for the people. What was right for our people.

You see, humanity was in danger of being wiped from the face of our humble planet of Sentavo. A powerful race known as the grinel had appeared in our world, as if from nowhere, and took all for themselves. Few people escaped that terrible attack - the Pilgrimage, as it has been called since - and made for distant lands in hopes of escaping the wrath of the grinel. Hawke and I were among those who managed to get away, but countless failed where we succeeded.

In the face of such overwhelming hardship, we both began to develop bizarre yet potent powers. With these abilities, fueled by the life force called essence, we managed to fight off the grinel where the armies of old had failed. Over time, we grew more and more powerful, and our victories won us enough respite from the invaders to eke out an existence on a small island nation we called Astra. Hawke and I were raised as kings, and for a time, we managed to rule side by side.

As the years went on, though, Hawke's ideals drifted away from mine own, and we began to argue over how best to protect our people. When we could no longer see eye to eye, he left to seek his own answers. It wasn't a peaceful parting.

Years turned to decades turned to centuries, and we tried multiple times to reconcile our differences for the sake of those we swore to protect. Every time, we only ended up butting heads and going down our own paths once more.

His path took him all over the land to combat injustice wherever he found it. A noble sounding endeavor, perhaps, but that left the governing of the realm all to me; a realm tearing itself apart ever so slowly as the memory of the Pilgrimage gradually faded to legend, and the people came to tolerate the simple life we had managed to build as the only way of life. Aside from Hawke, I was probably the only person alive who remembered what humans could achieve, and I fought to get us back on the path leading there once more.

However, I was but a mortal man, and though I had found a way to cheat death, the price it carried was too high. Hawke had found a different path to immortality with his own power - one that let him live on in his prime without fear of injury or illness. As the end of my life began to stare me in the face, I made a terrible decision to make that power a part of me as well. The end result was the twisted situation that Micasa has already put to words.

The night I'm about to recount happened several years after those fateful incidents. As per Micasa's requests, I'll be omitting certain details that she'll bring to light as her own recollection unfolds. On that hand, please forgive me if it feels my account is a little…vague. Hopefully, you'll understand in time.

* * *

The castle had always seemed too big, even when I had shared it with Hawke. When he left, it became like a barren chasm, filled with the ghosts of promises and dreams we had concocted so long ago. Every step I took echoed with sadness and regret of those dreams left unfulfilled.

That night, the loneliness that enveloped the halls was deeper than ever. I took that as an ominous sign. It was the first night in years that I had hosted guests under that mortared roof.

With a wave of my hand, the torches adorning the mortared walls flared to life. It irked me to think that parlor tricks like that were all my immense power were good for those days. Still, it beat trying to light them all by hand. There had to be over three dozen of them filling the hallway leading to my personal solar.

I took some time straightening the cape around my shoulders, making sure it draped just right over the pauldrons of my plate mail. Normally, I would have donned one of the hundreds of finely tailored tunics or robes that lined my cavernous wardrobe. With the company I was hosting, though, I felt far more comfortable in a sturdier kind of suit. I didn't consider myself paranoid, but I hadn't lived for over four hundred years by taking things for granted when they could turn ugly.

There was already a soft light peering through the cracks of the door to the room as I approached. I frowned at that; they were supposed to be waiting for me out in the hallway. It was a lot to expect of this lot, but I tried to look on the bright side. Perhaps if they were already settled in and comfortable, things would go more smoothly. I clung to that hope as I eased the door open and straightened myself, desperate to make myself as imposing as possible walking in.

A fire crackled in the fireplace to my left, casting dancing shadows across the dimly lit room. Against its mantle leaned a giant of a figure, tall enough that it could probably have reached the high ceiling just by stretching one of its massive limbs over its head. Its features were covered by its hood, but the pointed tusks protruding out from it told me it was one of my expected guests.

I took stock of the five chairs that had been set for the meeting by one of my few servants, who had thankfully made themselves scarce when my guests arrived. Another figure sat at the table that was the centerpiece of the room. Nobody had bothered to light the candles at the table, but the person's freakishly long, hooked nose was perfectly silhouetted in the firelight. It was undoubtedly the second of my guests.

Only one other chair was currently occupied by a woman in a pearlescent gown that shimmered even in the dim light. Three out of four, I noted. Not bad. I tried to ignore the fact that none of my guests looked up at my arrival.

“Gentlemen, my lady,” I spoke up, putting on what I had hoped was my best host voice, “welcome to my humble abode. I trust you had no problem finding your way here.”

The hooded outline of the figure by the fire turned ever so slightly, the only indication it had heard me. The robed woman jumped slightly at my voice, and the prodigiously nosed fellow sniffed a bit.

Well, I thought, at least they can hear me.

I strode across the room and helped myself to the chair at the end of the table. In all honesty, I had saved it to be taken by another, the one guest who hadn't bothered to answer my summons. As much as I had hoped they would all have come, maybe it was for the best. If that one had shown up, bloodshed might have been inevitable.

“I trust you understand why I called you all here tonight,” I began. “The time is drawing—”

“You wish to discuss this without acknowledging me properly, sir?” the nasally-gifted man at the table said, cutting me off. “I thought this was a meeting of civilized men, not some gathering of curs.” His high, squeaky voice grated on me with every word.

Tiring of the darkness already, I gestured towards the candelabra on the table and brought it to life with flame. The shimmering eyes of my outspoken guest narrowed at the sudden brightness, but I knew well enough that the sneer he wore had been there long before I brought it to light.

I marveled at how any man could be so ugly as that poor soul, with his leathery pale skin and dried lips that looked as they couldn't unpucker if he tried. Stringy, brittle white hair fell over his face in an absurd bowl cut. If I had just met the sod, I would have pegged him for a senile old man with one foot in the grave. I had to remind myself several times the “gentleman” was barely in his thirties, and as addle-brained as he looked, he was much sharper than I'd have liked. I had to tread carefully.

“My apologies, Lord Bojangles,” I managed to say. My smile must have looked painful on my face, but I assumed that would only make him feel better. “It is a pleasure to have one of such noble blood at my table tonight.”

My guest regarded me for a moment, pinching absentmindedly at his filthy, travel-stained silken tunic. Its original color was impossible to discern, and if the stories I had heard held true, his clothes hadn't been washed or changed in decades. I had yet to risk breathing through my nose, just in case.

“No worries, my dear sir, no worries,” he finally said with an indifferent wave. “It's not every day one has the good fortune of hosting true, full blooded royalty in their quaint little homes. You may be a 'king,' ” he snorted a bit at the word, “but the true worth of a ruler is in their lineage. You understand, I'm sure, sir.”

I scooted my chair back a bit to try and hide myself in the shadows of the room. I could feel my face growing ruddy with anger already, and I was determined to make this meeting work out somehow.

“Might I offer some refreshment?” I changed tact, rising from my seat and rushing to a nearby cabinet filled with some fine crystal tumblers and a few bottles of wine I kept on hand for the rare visitor. I pulled out four tumblers and started arranging them on a silver tray left on the shelf. Thank goodness my servants had thought ahead.

“I'll take a glass of Trobold red, from the year 250 if you have it,” Bojangles said. “The very best vintage, if I may say so,” he added to my other seated guest. The robed fellow shifted nervously, whether from being addressed by Bojangles or the tension in the room, I couldn't say.

Moreover, I was certain the vintage requested was pure bull. Sapir and a tiny town called Vinas, located on a small island off the coast, were the only two places in Astra where vineyards were kept. I had never even heard of Trobold, and I knew every town and city that was or had ever been in my kingdom.

“Sorry, afraid I'm all out,” I said. “I do have a fine Vinas white, year 303.” In truth, it was the crown of my small collection and impossible to find anymore. Far too good for my demanding visitor, but I was willing to break the seal if it kept them here.

Bojangles sniffed again. “Swill. If you've nothing better, though.”

I gritted my teeth as I popped the cork and watched my prize drain into the glasses. I quickly whisked the tray to the table, serving the two seated there and snapping up one of the glasses. That one I offered to the massive fellow brooding by the fire. It took the tumbler, drained it rapidly into the depths of its cowl, and handed the glass back to me.

“Let's get on with this,” the giant grumbled. I could almost feel its eyes narrowing. Things would be getting hairy if I didn't wrap this up soon.

“I agree, shall we discuss then?” I said, returning to my seat. Bojangles was swirling the wine in the glass as if to appraise it. My robed guest hadn't even touched his.

“So,” I began again, “the Conclave is fast approaching, as I'm sure you're well aware.”

Nobody spoke up. I hoped that meant I had their attention. I took a deep breath and continued.

“It's been too many years since we've sent a real team to make negotiations. Things are looking dire in Grankul, more than ever before. This could be our chance to make real progress for once. I've called you here in hopes of striking a deal—”

“You said you had a job for me,” interrupted my cloaked guest by the fire.

“I do. This is it,” I said, confused.

“This means nothing to me,” it growled, crossing its arms and straightening up. “I don't need anyone to help me with what I need. I'll go by myself, as always.”

“The brute and I see eye to eye for once,” Bojangles cut in. A low rumble sounded from the giant.

“Please, hear me out,” I pleaded. By the Almighty, how could things be falling apart when I had just begun speaking? “You won't have to give up any of your liberties you usually exercise. All I ask is that you accompany me for the audience at some point.”

“I have nothing to say to Origin,” the giant said, “and I've no time to waste chasing your stupid plans. Get the twig to go with you.” It waved towards my quietest guest, who was shivering uncontrollably.

“Silvia has already agreed to come,” I told him. “I was mostly hoping that you three—”

“Three? You invited the warmonger, too?” A dagger materialized in the giant's hand.

“Oh, the Lord already told me his answer to anything you had to say was no,” Bojangles decided to divulge at that moment. “And that answer goes for me too.” He tittered, as if privy to some secret jape.

He couldn't have told me that sooner? My fists tightened into balls, my lobstered gauntlets groaning.

“Besides,” Bojangles added, turning up his nose, “we would never stoop to conspiring with vagrant beasts.”

The giant slammed the dagger into the mantle above the fireplace. The tip barely embedded in the wood.

Suddenly, the glass in front of Bojangles split cleanly in two, sending the wine remaining in it running across the table. Some of it was already dripping into Bojangles's lap when he lifted an ornately hilted blade from where he had been holding it under the table.

“Give me a reason, you lummox…” Bojangles trilled.

“Enough!” I barked, standing from my seat. I slammed my hands on the table, sending my essence pouring into the room. The fireplace flared wildly, and the candles on the table twisted into a small inferno. The room fell quiet instantly.

As the little demonstration died down along with my temper, the giant stowed away his dagger and strode from the room without another word. After a minute or so, Bojangles snorted in disgust and dismissed himself as well. I was left alone in the room with Silvia, who had turned as white as her robe. At least her shivering had stopped.

“Erm, Uraj,” she managed to croak after some time, “I-I need to go too. They're expecting me back for a sermon in a c-couple days.”

I sighed. “Of course. Find one of my servants, and they'll send for a carriage for you.” She nodded and scampered away, doubtless glad to have an excuse to leave.

I looked around the room, half impressed that the worst damage done tonight was some spilled wine and a broken glass. Still, the weight of failure bore down on me. All the work I had put in to try and form that alliance, and all I managed to do was waste my best vintage.

Chapter 1: Six Years Later

It's been awhile since I've managed to make some time for myself and return to the story of Hawke Morau. I guess the problem I've had is deciding where to pick up my recollection again. We spent pretty much all my youth together, seeing everything Astra had to offer.

For those who have forgotten, my name's Micasa: former slave turned adventurer, thanks to the endeavors of the aforementioned Hawke. The journey we took that gave me that opportunity has already been recounted, but that was only a small part of my time with Hawke from the moment we met. After we traversed the continent in search of the broken remnants of his soul and retrieved them, we blazed a new path, both to teach me more about the world and try to better the lives of those around us.

However, there is one point in our travels that began a chain of events leading to the most significant adventure of our lives, one that changed the course of the world. I guess that's as good a place as any to start.

* * *

The wind whipped into my face, hot and arid and dusty. I pulled my head scarf over my nose and mouth, cursing the way it kept slipping down at the most inopportune moments. Hawke put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a look urging patience. Our quarry was approaching fast.

From inside the alcove of a boulder where we crouched, we watched as a line of camels laden with packs and sacks trudged through the hellish heat of the Madness. Their riders were wrapped from head to toe in scarves and robes, bundled as tightly as Hawke and I were to try and avoid the worst parts of the desert's wrath. Every so often, one rider would turn to another and gesticulate, but I would've been surprised if they could hear each other in such weather.

I was able to just catch sight of several hazy figures rising over a dune and heading steadily towards the caravan. Their beige cloaks made them almost invisible, even from our vantage point. In the thickest part of the storm, the camel riders would never see them coming.

I was ready to spring our trap, but the strong grip on my shoulder didn't lessen. I shot Hawke an impatient glance, but he only shook his head. Apparently, he thought the time wasn't right.

Even when they were a scant few yards away, the sand-colored figures still didn't increase their pace. The caravan made no motion that they had a clue what was headed their way. It wasn't until they were practically on top of each other that the camouflaged characters darted out unexpectedly, curved blades and cudgels whipping out from the folds of their robes.

That was the moment Hawke decided to haul me to my feet, right before he vaulted off the rock and leapt into the fray, soaring a hundred feet in a single bound. I ground my teeth in frustration; he knew full well I couldn't make those kinds of death-defying leaps. I was left with no choice but to slide down from our position as quickly as possible, praying I wouldn't lose my balance and tumble the rest of the way down. That wouldn't make quite the impression on our foes that I wanted.

The wind was even worse than I thought down in the small gulch. With one arm raised to shield my eyes from the sand, I fought my way towards the dark shapes of the caravan and its attackers. A few grunts and shouts floated my way, only to quickly be swept up in the howl of the wind.

By the time I finally got there, the fight was basically over. Hawke was smashing his open palm into the face of one of the marauders, giving his sandy robe a sudden burst of crimson from his nose. A number of similar bodies were strewn about the ground, already coated with a fine layer of dust. From the look of it, Hawke hadn't even drawn his sword.

One of the caravan riders cried out in dismay when I came into view. He brandished a blade of his own at me, but Hawke shouted out and held up a hand to stop them. I approached Hawke, not bothering to hide my frustration.

“Was there even a reason for me to bother coming down?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Hawke. “I'm gonna need some help tying all these bandits up and getting them out of the storm.”

“At least you didn't kill any of them,” I remarked. Bending over one of them and seeing the extent of Hawke's beating on them, I added, “…I think.”

“Course not. They won't last long if they're left out like this, though.” Hawke turned and started speaking to one of the merchants, asking if they had any rope to spare for the bandits. I knew we had plenty of binding back with our own camels, but in Hawke's zeal, he seemed to have forgotten to have one of them on hand to bring down. With a sigh, I turned to retrieve our mounts, just in case.

I was amazed that I could find the camels at all, though it took far longer than I had hoped. When I finally made my way back with both our rides in tow, the merchants had already helped Hawke secure the bandits with some of their own supplies. There were five in total, each one bound up and ready to be hurled over a camel's back like a wriggling carpet.

“Micasa, you didn't have to get the camels by yourself,” Hawke said, frowning. I returned the frown right back at him.

“How are we supposed to carry these guys back without them? You planning on just flinging them over your shoulder?” I asked.

“The merchants agreed to help me escort their new friends to the nearest outpost to await the pleasure of local law enforcement,” he informed me.

“And we were just going to walk back with them?”

Hawke's eyes dropped, and he grew silent at that.

“Next time, we don't set up watch so far from our rides,” I told him. I handed him the reins to his camel before hoisting myself into the saddle of my own.

“Come on, Lumps, let's let the big strong bandit hunter take care of his cargo,” I cooed to my camel as I stroked her head. Lumps brayed, and I gave her a little pet. With a kick of my heels, we set off towards the head of the merchants' line.

“Hey, what about these guys!?” Hawke exclaimed, pointing to his brigand pile.

“I'm sure you can handle it allllll on your own,” I called back.

My irritation with Hawke was a bit overblown, certainly. It would've taken much longer to reach the battle if he hadn't jumped. I just hated how he always did everything by himself. It certainly wasn't the first time.

The head of the merchant caravan looked at me from the corner of her eye as I drew up alongside, her hazel eyes and a peek of brown flesh the only skin visible from the folds of her cowl. I gave her a small nod.

“We are grateful for the intervention of your bodyguard,” she said. Her eyes crinkled a bit. “He makes quite an entrance.”

“Yes, there's no one quite like him,” I replied, trying to hide the indignation in my tone. “He's not my bodyguard, though. We're partners.”

“Oh?” The merchant seemed even more amused at that idea. “I can only imagine how strong you must be then.”

I grumbled under my breath. Hopefully in the weather, she couldn't hear my sulking.

“How was it you knew we needed help, though?” she asked suddenly. “Your timing was, how should I put it, convenient?” The playful tone left her, replaced by suspicion.

“We were hired to watch your caravan,” I said. “We were told your wares might be targeted and to keep an eye out in case the rumors were true.”

“And you didn't decide to tell us we were targets or that we had this protection of yours because…?”

She was much sharper than I had given her credit for. “Our employer was afraid of making your people nervous. They thought if you knew you were targeted, you might not make the trek at all.”

“The Madness is always dangerous. That's no news to us.”

“Sure, but it's not always a certainty you'll be attacked by bandits.”

“And this time was?”

“I hope you're not suggesting we're with those who attacked you.” I held up a hand to my chest. “We really were concerned for your safety. Why would we stop them if those people were with us? You think they'd let themselves get beat up so badly if we hired them?”

Her eyes lingered on me for a second. Finally, she looked away and sighed. “I suppose I'm just being paranoid. You'll have to forgive me. It's true that danger isn't unheard of to us, but that doesn't make it any easier.”

“I understand.” I urged my mount closer and laid a hand on her arm.

We waited a few more minutes until Hawke and a group of merchants trotted back to us, each of their camels now laden with a secured hostage added to their wares. Hawke gave me a sullen look but said nothing on the matter. I didn't feel too bad about how I left him. I had done my part to make sure everything went along smoothly.

“I hope you don't mind if we join you for the last small leg of the journey,” I said to the merchant leader. “Now that we're certain the threat is real, we want to make sure they don't catch you - or us - unawares again.”

The leader nodded. “I'm sure my people will feel better with you and your…partner along.” She raised a playful eyebrow at me before turning back to the caravan and twirling her hand through the air. “Let's get a move on, folks, before we have anymore unwanted baggage!”

One of the other merchants let out a couple of short trills on a whistle, and soon the caravan was back in formation and trudging their way through the storm again. Hawke and I kept a pace just ahead of the leader, far enough that we could talk without being overheard.

“You think they'll follow?” I asked him as quietly as I could over the howl of the wind.

“They might not completely trust us, but they're already well aware of what I can do,” Hawke said. “That mistrust can work to our advantage, anyways. They'll want to have us close enough to keep an eye on.”

Indeed, they seemed more than happy to let us lead the way. We, in turn, were just as happy to nudge our eastward course just the slightest bit south. It might have been noticed if any of our new friends had been eager to turn and check the heading of the sun, but as Hawke surmised, they were more interested in making sure we didn't try to bolt away.

Our bandit prisoners awoke shortly thereafter, but it only took a nominal amount of struggling on their part to realize they weren't making any daring escapes soon. They were content to keep quiet, only throwing the occasional acidic glare in our direction.

By late evening, the storm had abated to a mere nuisance, and the first chilled breeze of the desert night started to pass through when we caught sight of the lamps. A few ragged cheers came up from the merchants, and even I found myself cracking a smile. It had been a couple of days since we last saw signs of anything close to civilization.

Hawke and I slowed our mounts, letting the caravan pass us while we acted under the guise of making sure they made the last leg safely. Several tents had been erected right where the sands of the Madness began to give way to tufts of green(ish) grass and a sparse population of palm trees. Their welcoming lights beckoned the caravan with the promise of safety and rest.

The leader, however, had slowed with us. “I don't remember a trading outpost this close to the border,” she said. Her eyes swiveled between Hawke and me, narrowing ever so slightly.

“People are getting bolder.” Hawke gave a noncommittal shrug. “We've been using this outpost for years, now. In fact, it looks like a few old friends of ours are already here to welcome us.”

Out of the shadows, several black-robed figures astride black horses seemed to materialize around the merchant. Her head swiveled around in shock before finally landing back on me. The anger in her eyes was only matched by the betrayal.

“So you are nothing more than common bandits,” she spat.

The dark clad newcomers drew close, and one pulled off the cloth hiding his face. “Come now, miss, there's no need to be rude. We're no bandits, just some entrepreneurs lookin' to corner the market. If you'd kindly come with us, we can discuss business inside.” He flashed her his best apologetic smile.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“'Fraid not,” he said with a wry smirk, “but humor us for a while, and I promise you won't leave displeased.”

Her head hanging in defeat, the merchant let herself be led away by the horsemen. Hawke and I waited until they were long ahead of us before following suit. Somehow, I suspected the caravan leader didn't want to be all that close to us for a while.

“I never like lying to them like that,” I said, still keeping my voice low enough to not carry far.

“To be honest, I don't much either,” Hawke admitted. “The family does pay more for the goods than the actual clients these merchants are employed by, but good luck convincing them of that. They'll be better off in the long run.”

The human bundle still draped across the back of Hawke's camel began to stir.

“Hey, Hawke, we made it back, yeah?” called a muffled voice. “Is there a reason I'm still tied up back here like a sack of grain?”

“Oh!” Hawke stopped his mount and hopped off to tend to the “bandit” he was still toting around. Once the man was unbound and back on his feet, he took a moment to stretch out a few kinks in his back. His joints popped and creaked like an old door.

“Man, you know you're not really supposed to beat the crap out of us on these jobs, right?” the man wheezed through gritted teeth as he prodded at his swollen nose, which was still bent at a painful angle.

“Sorry, Nox, I had to make it convincing.” Hawke patted the guy on the shoulder, doubling the guy over with a fresh bout of agony. “They almost didn't buy it as it is. You fellows did great back there, though.”

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna stick one of the younger guys on bandit detail next time though,” Nox said as he started back towards the camp. “I'm getting too old for this.”

“You sure you don't want a ride back?” Hawke called after him. Nox dismissed him with a choice finger.

“Well,” Hawke turned back to me, looking eager to change the subject, “why don't we go see what our part of the cut is?”

The small fortification of tents was bustling with members of the family milling about, tending to the duties that arose with a fresh score. They weren't bandits in the traditional sense; most of them were far too clean to ever be mistaken on that account. Their fastidious attention to detail also left a lot to be desired when comparing them to the common thug. These were criminals of a higher caliber, eschewing law only because of how inefficient it was to do things the legal way.

I never fully understood why Hawke was willing to throw in his hat with that lot. He truly seemed to believe they were working for the betterment of the people. To be fair, the family had accomplished a lot: they were almost solely responsible for the construction of Sapir, the capital of pretty much all artistic endeavors in Astra, and took on the brunt of the protection duties of the people in the Fertile Lands that lay east of the Madness. That was supposed to be the job of the reigning monarchy, but few soldiers were willing to make the trip from the Old Kingdom across the inhospitable and barren waste that divided the country in two. The family took full advantage of that to tweak the system to take the matters into their own hands when possible, all the while skimming a bit off the top for themselves.

It was a system that we took advantage of, perhaps a bit more than I liked. Still, it gave us an information network that spanned most of our civilized world, an invaluable tool in our personal quest to better the lives of the people. I tried to remind myself that that was our goal, even if we occasionally had to perform tasks I found a bit distasteful.

Hawke and I entered the largest pavilion tent, where many of the merchants had already been corralled. Some were lounging on overstuffed cushions, taking in the first decent meal and drink they'd probably had in days. A few were talking heatedly with members of the family, easily distinguishable thanks to the vertical line tattooed under their left eyes. The protests of the merchants grew weaker as the family members pressed more and more coin into their hands.

We strode past them to where one man stood in the back, amidst the heaps of goods that had been unloaded from the caravan. His deep tan and charcoal hair were a match for my own features, but his locks were currently splayed all about his head as if he had just awoken. He was busy looking over the wares and cataloguing them with swift tally marks on a clipboard.

“How's the haul this time, Genzo?” Hawke asked as we approached. The family member screwed up his face and vigorously rubbed his head in agitation. No wonder he couldn't keep his hair neat.

Genzo didn't look up right away, his pencil still darting across the parchment. When Hawke tapped his shoulder, he shot us a peeved expression that softened when he recognized us.

“Everything's about as well as could be expected,” he said. He scratched the tattoo on his left cheek, the common greeting amongst family members. Though Hawke and I lacked the marking of a true member, we still followed their courtesies and returned the gesture.

“Twelve bars of gold, twenty of silver, no fewer than a hundred precious gems, some damn good lumber and steel.” Genzo droned the numbers while pointing to each item. “Old Kingdom doesn't have crap for food or artwork, but their raw materials are top notch. People pay a sweet ruple for this stuff.”

“Speaking of ruples…” Hawke held out his hand and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together.

“Yes, yes, here.” Genzo hastily shoved a pair of felt pouches into Hawke's hand. They tinkled musically against each other. Hawke took a moment to peek inside each one before tossing one of the coin purses to me.

“Always good doing business with you,” said Hawke with a small smile. Genzo was already back to his inventory, face slack in concentration.

As Hawke walked away with his pay, I removed a few of the silvered coins from my own share and shoved them into Genzo's pocket.

“Do me a favor,” I asked, “and give this to Fern the next time you're in Changirah. Tell him Micasa says hi.”

“Sure, sure, Fern, hi, gotcha.” He barely acknowledged me as he continued making ticks on his clipboard. There was a good chance he'd forget, but to be fair, everyone else in the family seemed to forget Fern a lot more easily.

Hawke had thrown himself into one of the puffy cushions near the entrance and was busy dancing a ruple across his knuckles while he waited for me to finish my meager business.

“You know he probably won't get that money,” he said.

I shrugged. “If we were heading towards Changirah, I'd give it to him personally. It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more generous with your own money, Hawke. It's not like we're wasting away.”

“Don't start that again. You know I give—”

“Hawke?” one of the men nearby interrupted him. “Say, are you by chance Hawke Morau?” My companion nodded. The merchant turned to one of the women he had ridden in with. “Hey, Quinn, you still got that letter!?”

“Letter?” Hawke and I said in unison.

“Yeah, somewhere around here,” the woman replied. She dug through the depths of her cloak, unearthing a crumpled roll of parchment sealed with a blob of gray wax. The man who had cut in snatched it from her hands and pressed it into Hawke's.

“We were told to deliver this directly to you,” he said with a look of satisfaction. Quinn glared at him.

Hawke examined the letter. Noting the seal was unbroken, he nodded.

“Thanks for keeping it safe,” he said, flipping the coin he had been playing with through the air at Quinn. She caught it and flashed a smirk at her comrade, whose face soured quickly.

“Who's it from?” I asked. Hawke frowned, even though he hadn't opened it yet. He broke the wax with a finger and shook the note out, holding it up to read it better by the brazier light in the tent. His frown worsened as his eyes moved.

“It's from Uraj,” he muttered darkly. “He says he wants to see me at once. Some urgent business.”

“Uraj!?” I blurted. It had been at least six years since the last time we saw him, on that fateful day when Hawke reclaimed the last piece of his soul from the grasp of the man most knew as the Forge. He and Hawke might have once both reigned as the Old Kings, but Hawke usually grew distant whenever his former partner's name came up these days.

“Did he say what it's about?” I asked.

“Nope. Only that I should come right away and bring you if I'm still babysitting, as he puts it.” He crumpled the paper in his fist and tossed it directly behind him into the brazier. It flared up and burned away in seconds.

“Well, we're going, right?” I asked.

Hawke clicked his tongue. “I'd rather not, considering his manners don't seem to have improved much. If he's asking me to come back to Damkarei, though, I assume he's gotten into some real trouble. He knows how much it irks me to see him.”

“Don't be that way,” I chided playfully, giving his arm a little shake. “Let's go see what the oldest man alive wants. Heck, when I show up you can rub it in his face with how good of a dad you've become.”

Hawke glowered at me deeply. I gave him my most innocent smile; I knew he hated it when I called him dad.

“Fine, let's head out then.” He stood and started out the entrance. “Might as well take advantage of the night. I'd rather be cold than burning up out there.”

I opened my mouth to argue how long it had been since we'd slept in anything resembling a bed or had a meal that wasn't dried or smoked. He turned and raised an eyebrow at me. After a moment, I closed my mouth and remained silent. He did have a point.

As I followed him out, I just wished his point didn't mean another night of kicking up sand in the freezing cold with nothing but dry rations to look forward to.

Chapter 2: The Fallen Noble

Crossing the Madness was a difficult journey, fraught with unknown dangers all over. Yet, for all that, it only took a day's (or night's) travel to make it across.

By contrast, the land that composed the Old Kingdom was far safer, even if constantly embroiled in perpetual civil war. With so much distance to cover, it was simple enough to spot signs of recent disturbance and avoid it.

That didn't change the fact that there was a lot of ground to cover. And, of course, the city of Damkarei where Uraj ruled was at the very edge of the Old Kingdom.

That meant weeks of travel by horseback through hills, forests, dry lake beds, and ruins. Oh, the ruins. There were likely as many fallen cities in the Old Kingdom as there were actual functioning ones. Some were holdovers from before the Pilgrimage, when the grinel that conquered our world first appeared, but those had long since faded to little more than piles of dust and rust. Others were far more recent, holdfasts of crumbling mortar and rotted wood from small empires that failed to stand the test of time.

If there was one positive to so many ruins, it was that you were less likely to come across unwanted attention in one than in a town proper. Sure, there was always the threat of outlaws or the rare grinel, but those were simple problems compared to prying eyes and ardent worshippers. That was a problem Hawke was more concerned with than myself, but it made no difference to me how we got to our destination. Just so long as we could manage it without incident.

We had been back on the road for just a few days out of the Madness when we found another such ruin waiting for us just outside of a forest we had been stuck in the last couple of days. It wasn't the largest fallen city we had come across, but trying to go around it would have wasted hours of time, so we plunged straight into the mess of rubble.

Hawke and I always kept a sharp ear open for any trouble when moving through territory with such limited visibility, always on alert for the sound of conversation or weapons being sharpened. Typical bandit noises, basically.

So, imagine our confusion when the soft sound of laughter reached our ears. It wasn't the rough, callous laugh of a couple of brigands sharing a ribald joke. It was high, nasally, and accompanied by nothing other than the sound of the hoofbeats from our horses.

Normally, we'd avoid the sounds of other people unless it sounded like they needed help, but something tickled my curiosity. Who would be simply sitting in the middle of a ruin and cackling to themselves?

Hawke must have felt the same way. He motioned for me to stop, and we dismounted to delve deeper into the ruin, towards the source of the laughter. We clambered over some rubble and rounded a jagged hunk of stone that might have once been a wall. On the other side was the source of our curiosity.

The stranger sat upon the remains of an old wooden chair that still bore tattered scraps that must have once been cushions. Those tatters seemed to blend in with the man's clothes, though I'm being generous when I call them that. The filthy, threadbare silk was rotted full of holes, and he didn't wear them so much as let them hang limply off his form.

The man threw back his grotesque, wrinkled head and laughed again. His stringy white hair fell away to reveal sunken eyes trying to hide in the depths of his bluish, pale skin. The nose, though, the nose on that one! I had never seen a person alive with a nose like that until I met that man. Sticking up in the air like that, it resembled a shark's fin rising from the waves.

His laughter slowly died, though the smile full of yellowed teeth he flashed with it remained. His head lowered slowly, and he shook his head.

“No, this doesn't feel right either,” he muttered with sadness in his voice. His screechy, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. “I suppose it was too much to hope.” He looked at us, his eyes widening as if he just noticed we were there.

“Uh, can we help you, sir?” Hawke asked.

The stranger narrowed his eyes at my companion. “ 'Sir'? Do you take me for a common frump?” he huffed. “You stand before the rightful ruler of the kingdom of Ravoso: Ricard Valentine von Bojangles, the Third of his Name!” The bizarre man crossed his legs and lifted his chin. “Show some proper fealty, you cur!”

Hawke's lips curled more and more in disgust the longer Bojangles went on. By the end of the short rant, it looked as if he had suffered a stroke.

“I'm sorry, Boyanglay, you said?” I tried to pronounce his name, but I couldn't chew my words in the same way the disheveled man could.

“That's Lord Bojangles, you foolish wench,” he spat back. For all his filth and the rank odor suffusing him, I had never met a man so full of himself. “Fret not. I am not a wroth man, and I forgive you both your missteps. It's not every day the common folk get a look at true royalty.”

I edged close to Hawke and whispered to him out of the corner of my mouth.

(Is this fool really some sort of royalty?)

“Ravoso, you say?” Hawke mused, loudly enough for Bojangles to hear.

The supposed ruler smirked proudly. “The one and only. A greater kingdom has never existed. Though my jape of a father lost it to a mere peasant uprising, I know that I alone have what it takes to bring it back to its former glory!” He glanced around the ruins we were talking in. “As soon as I can find it.”

“You've got your work cut out for you, then,” Hawke said to him. “There are scores of failed kingdoms littering this side of the Madness. Dunspan, Corellia, Bopielt… yeah, I do remember there being a Ravoso as well.”

“Excellent! You shall point me in its direction at once!” Bojangles leapt to his feet and drew himself up. I was impressed that he managed to stand almost as high as Hawke, who was tall compared to the average man. I was more surprised to see the ornate rapier at his side, its scabbard lined with rubies and sapphires, its hilt wrought with silver inlays and twisted into a complicated pattern. It was like a diamond in the extremely rough.

“Sorry.” Hawke shrugged. “I don't know where it is. Ravoso fell, what, at least thirty years ago? I don't think it ever even made it on the map.”

Bojangles's face darkened faster than the sky in a hurricane.

“Are you mocking me? Do you think you're being witty by dismissing the greatest kingdom that ever existed as a footnote of history!? Who dares to speak to me that way!?”

Pressure began to build around us, like the air was growing heavier. I had experienced this before. It was the feeling of someone releasing their essence. In this case, Bojangles was all but declaring his hostile intent.

Hawke felt it as well, his mouth going rigid. He said nothing to me, but the words from his training echoed in the back of my mind.

In a contest of essence, not answering power with power will kill you nine times out of ten.

I concentrated and let my own essence fill me until it bubbled out and surrounded me, effectively acting as an invisible barrier to Bojangles' own energy. Hawke had already done the same for himself, the push of his essence against mine like a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Bojangles raised a hairless brow. “I see you're no ordinary chaff,” he half-complimented. “Name yourself.”

“Hawke Morau, the Scholar,” Hawke replied, “once of the Old Kings. I know a thing or two about royalty myself, Lord Bojangles.”

The so-called noble's eyes lit up. “Ah, so you're the other one. I just had a chat with the old man in Damkarei.”

“You spoke to Uraj?” Hawke said, betraying surprise.

“We were discussing matters of the realm. Speaking is for peasants, young sir.” I almost laughed at the way he addressed Hawke. He had to be at least three hundred fifty years younger than my companion.

“What would Uraj possibly want to say to you?” I asked. Bojangles turned to me with eyes full of disdain.

“When nobles are speaking, little urchin girls do not speak until asked to.”

As he spoke, there was a sudden change in the air. I could feel his essence twisting against my own. Had I pushed him too far? Was he about to attack? I braced myself for him to strike out, and Hawke's hand drifted toward the sword at his waist.

Bojangles didn't move, though he kept a shrewd eye upon me. When a few moments had passed and he still made no move, I went to make a retort.

My mouth opened, but I found myself unable to utter a sound.

Bojangles narrowed his eyes and gave me the most insufferable smirk I'd ever seen. “I see you understand,” he said. “It's quite all right, girl. Many a peasant has forgotten their manners in the presence of their betters. Awestruck so profoundly, their meagre brains forget any semblance of civilized behavior.”

I wanted to scream at his horrid, sagging face, but not even a squeak would escape my lips no matter how hard I tried. His smirk grew even wider.

“Of course, a proper peasant would know that you do not stand beside royalty like an equal. You should kneel to your better.”

Again, his essence began to stir, and I steadied my own power to try and fight back against whatever he was doing. Instead, I found my legs moving on their own accord. Even straining my muscles until I was shaking with effort, I couldn't stop my own body from going to one knee on its own. I looked up at him with all the loathing I could muster, still unable to utter so much as a peep.

“Better,” crooned Bojangles, sniffing with satisfaction.

I heard a quiet ping sound, and faster than my eyes could follow, Hawke's sword was against the ragged noble's throat.

“Release your power on Micasa, or we'll see how blue your blood really is,” Hawke snarled under his breath.

The blade was caked with rust, the edge scored with numerous gouges and nicks. To the average onlooker, Hawke's sword would have looked more like a thin hunk of old steel than a proper weapon. Symphony was no ordinary sword though; forged by Uraj and named by Hawke's lost love Rouge, the weapon carried such sentimentality for my guardian that it was practically a part of him. As such, he could channel his essence through it to make it sharp enough to cleave through even steel with ease.

Bojangles's bloodshot eyes went wide, but his sneer didn't falter in the least.

“Really, young sir, chivalry for the lowest caste is just absurd!” whined the haggard man. “I've no more business here anyway, with this worthless kingdom or with you.” He turned away from Hawke's blade with a speed and grace that looked entirely beyond him and began walking away.

“We're not finished here—” Hawke started, but Bojangles cut him off.

“No, I do believe there's nothing left to say or do between us. Good day, young sir.”

For the third time his essence flared, and this time it was Hawke who stopped in his tracks, eyes wide in shock. He seemed to be fighting against himself to undo whatever power Bojangles had ensorcelled us with, but he too failed to overpower whatever had taken hold.

I was floored, in more ways than one. It was the first time I had seen Hawke put in such a position by anyone. Not even Uraj had left him looking so powerless. Hawke himself looked so surprised his eyes were bulging out of his head.

Then I took a closer look at his eyes. His silver irises expanded to fill the whites, his pupils contracted to pinpoints of black. Hawke was drawing upon his own power, the one his namesake was derived from.

The Scholar.

His mouth worked silently as he looked at the back of the retreating stranger, his eyes drinking in not just the details of the man, but also the way his essence had changed when he had worked his power against us. In all the world, there was no better student at unraveling a situation than Hawke Morau.

After just a few moments, he muttered something under his breath. I felt Hawke's essence flex, not unlike how Bojangles' had. His body jerked, as if freed from some unseen grip, and he let out a sigh. He hurried to my side and knelt beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“It's okay, Micasa, his power doesn't have a hold on you anymore.”

I still couldn't stand, and still couldn't bring myself to speak, not even to tell Hawke how wrong he was. Then his essence flared, and my muscles unclenched so suddenly I fell sprawling to the ground. My breath came heavy, relief flooding through me.

“How?” I asked on reflex, almost gasping in surprise at my renewed ability to speak.

“I figured out how his power worked and managed to undo it,” he responded. He looked over his shoulder, to where Bojangles had already disappeared around a pile of broken stones. Slowly he shook his head. “What a terrible power. I've never seen anything work like it.”

I forced myself to my feet, trying my best to stretch out the knots that had formed while I had been locked in place. “What the hell did he do? I've never seen you at someone's mercy like that.”

Hawke winced. “I never thought a power could affect someone the way that one did. The ability to control people through mere suggestion…if he wanted to, he could wreak havoc with that ability.”

“My essence couldn't stop it!” I cried out in frustration. “And from the looks of it, neither could yours.”

“There was nothing wrong with your defense, in theory,” said Hawke. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Bojangles has done something strange with that power of his, though. It's like the very words he speaks carry his essence into his victim.”

“So as long as we can hear him, we can't stop it?” The idea he could manipulate us with no recourse was terrifying. I shuddered at the thought of what he could have made us do if he had had half the mind to.

“Well, if that's the case, it might be as simple as blocking out his voice to stop him.” Hawke shook his head some more. “Either way, if what he told us is true, then he's also spoken to Uraj recently.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with why he's called us in?” I asked. Hawke nodded.

“I think that's possible. We'd better hurry. If Bojangles did something to Uraj and has taken control of him, things might be worse than we thought.”

As we rushed back to our horses, I took one last uneasy glance over my shoulder. Bojangles was long gone, but the shell of the kingdom we had found him in still stood, more steadfast than it probably ever had in life. I thought of the city that Bojangles claimed was his birthright and could only feel grateful that there was no kingdom left for him to return to.

Chapter 3: The King's Summons

The rest of our journey was blessedly uneventful after the excitement of our encounter with Bojangles the Third. Part of that had to do with us giving a wide berth to any ruins we came across from that point on. It added quite a bit of time to our travel, but we didn't want to risk any more half-crazed former nobles with bizarre powers.

Eventually, we found our way to the Astral Road that connected all major cities of the Old Kingdom together. Formed from huge chunks of granite that had been fitted so tightly together they could be mistaken for one uncut slab of stone, the road stretched all the way from Damkarei to the western edge of the Madness. Hawke told me that long ago, they had planned to build the road completely across the Madness and all the way to the eastern shore of the Fertile Lands. I wished that they had; it would've saved us a lot of trouble now.

As direct as the Astral Road was, we made sure to keep well off the main path to avoid travellers, electing instead to travel through the surrounding hills and fields, though never straying far enough to lose sight of the landmark. After a few days, we saw something that made us diverge our course even further.

Val'Hala was the largest city in all of Astra, possibly larger than Damkarei itself, and its size represented the power behind its walls well. The largest military force in all of humanity resided there, drilling and training daily. Some knew the city as the Lonely Kingdom, for it was the only city that didn't swear fealty to the Old Kings. In fact, several smaller cities in the Old Kingdom swore fealty directly to Val'Hala and its ruler, Lord Othenidus.

Known by many as Othenidus the Great, the self-styled lord was a fierce and powerful man who held himself as an equal to both Old Kings. I had never met this man - few who lived outside of Val'Hala did - but from what I heard of his brutal nature, I decided that was for the best.

On the other hand, I had made acquaintance with his wife and co-ruler, Lady Lheona. When Hawke and I first set foot in Val'Hala during our quest for Hawke's scattered essence, I ended up being taken hostage for a brief time, before Hawke used his immense power to allow us to escape.

Even after some six years, neither of us found it likely that that event had been forgotten, especially by Lheona. So just like last time, we made sure to give it as much space as we could.