Savants of Humanity
The Scholar’s Legacy - Book II
Joshua Buller
Copyright (C) 2017 Joshua Buller
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia
Published 2017 by Creativia
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.
Table of Contents
Prologue: From the Desk of Lord Uraj
Chapter 1: Six Years Later
Chapter 2: The Fallen Noble
Chapter 3: The King's Summons
Chapter 4: Conclave
Chapter 5: Once More on the Road
Chapter 6: Friends Long Unseen
Chapter 7: The Holy Tenet
Chapter 8: True Power
Chapter 9: Scars
Chapter 10: The Family
Chapter 11: A Mother's Concerns
Chapter 12: Ruined
Chapter 13: Deeds Over Words
Chapter 14: The Best Laid Plans
Chapter 15: A Home for Thieves
Chapter 16: The Giant's Shadow
Chapter 17: Legends
Chapter 18: Demon Hunt
Chapter 19: Weak Point
Chapter 20: Old Memories
Chapter 21: Reckless
Chapter 22: The Great One
Chapter 23: The Essence of Perfection
Chapter 24: The Gathering Clouds
Chapter 25: Ultimatum
Chapter 26: Blood and Mud
Chapter 27: A King's Anger
Chapter 28: One Difference
Chapter 29: The Six Nullstones
Chapter 30: Beyond the Horizon
About the Author
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 chair
s 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.
Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2) Page 1