“Minister Finloth, at your service.” He bowed formally. After he rose, he carefully resettled a glass spectacle over his right eye. His long face was solemn but smug.
“What news do you have about the Gloaming?” I asked.
“We have formed a committee,” he answered. “After much deliberation, we decided on six members of the committee, with me as its leader. We also wrote up clear rules and procedures.” He paused as if he expected me to say something. I motioned for him to go on. “The committee,” he continued, “will be named The Committee on Fair Transition for Lost Prisoners. At our first meeting, we listed the challenges and tasks ahead. First, we need somewhere to house all the prisoners. The dungeons are already full. We considered—”
I held up my hand to stop him. “That is enough about your committee. What is the current status?”
“Yes, my prince.” He fiddled with his spectacle again, then continued in a grand voice. “The current status is that we have determined the manner of retrieval, and we have nearly agreed upon the site for constructing a new prison.”
“Nearly agreed?” I felt my anger rising. “I told you I wanted them out immediately.”
“Of course, of course,” he said. “And we will have them out, but this must be a fair and safe process, and—”
“Silence,” I commanded, trying to stay calm. “You will figure out how to get these men out, where to put them, and everything else, and you will figure it out NOW. Is that clear?”
His long mouth hung open. He slowly closed it, and his lips curled into a faint grin as if this was a game. “Clear as crystal, my prince.”
“If you do not have a better report for me within the week,” I threatened, “you will not report to me again.”
He bowed and scurried out. I stood from the throne. It was a good time for a mid-morning break. I decided I would visit the archives, where others were doing research for me about the Gloaming and the Sunans.
I asked Jon and Ulysses to accompany me. Lorien had been insistent that at least one of them always be by my side. She did not trust anyone else. I liked keeping Jon close because he had known me before I was the prince, and Ulysses had more battle scars and wisdom than any of my other knights.
We walked together from the throne room to the remote wing of the palace that housed the archives. Outside a storm was raging. The constant pelting rain and gusting wind had everyone on edge. Once this storm season passed, it would be cold enough to light the braziers warming the palace.
We eventually reached the archive’s ground-level reading room. It was a light-filled space with huge tables spread around. The room was like the tip of an iceberg, showing only decorative books, with the vast collection of written treasures locked safely below ground, where the risk of fire and destruction was diminished.
My lead researcher greeted us at the door. He was everything I could have wanted in a researcher: smart, punctual, targeted, and curious. I had not set foot into the archives during my first reign, but the archivist did not resent me for it. Instead he basked in this glorious moment for his projects. The tufts of grey hair over his ears, his speckled glasses, his wide belly—they all shook with excitement as he bowed before me.
“Greetings, Guthrie. What have you learned?”
“My Prince,” he stood straight and waved for me to follow, “your request has led to most fascinating histories. I have parceled out assignments and no word of your questions has left our archives. Come, we have been preparing for your visit.”
He led me to a chair near the center of the room. I stood behind it, with Jon and Ulysses at my sides. Four more researchers formed a crescent around me, with Guthrie in the middle.
“It is truly an honor to have you here.” Guthrie held open his arms in welcome, his robe hanging low at the cuffs over his thin wrists. “Prince Aden founded this archive many years past, but we have few recorded visits from princes. Where would you like us to begin?”
“Start with the Gloaming,” I answered, “and if time allows, move to the Sunans.”
“The fascinating thing, my Prince, is that the two stories are connected, but I am getting ahead of myself. Yarl?” He looked to his left, and the young man at the far end of the crescent nodded vigorously, nervously.
“Yes, well, our written records of the Gloaming are few. They, um, we—” He tripped over the words.
“Take your time, Yarl,” I said with a smile and took a seat. Lorien had told me people found me less threatening when I was not standing.
“Thank you my Prince,” he began again. “We have two tomes that mention the Gloaming’s origins.” He stepped to the side and leaned over a thick, ancient book on a desk.
“This first one is called The History of Jonas’ Conquests. Most of the book is about what Jonas did on this continent, but in a short section about his approach to foreign lands, it says: As part of his efforts to promote pure bloodlines, Prince Jonas also adopted measures to eliminate those of Sunan heritage from Valemidas. Years before, Prince Aden had granted the Sunan people freedom to visit the city. Jonas worked to isolate the Valemidan continent from any Sunan influence. Many Sunans disappeared under Jonas’s reign. The fate of these disappeared people remains unknown. There were rumors at the time that Jonas constructed a secret prison, but this was not verified.”
The researcher glanced up and caught my eyes. “It goes on to talk about how Jonas’s treatment of the Sunans accomplished what he intended. Most Sunans fled Valemidas, and trade between the nations dwindled.” Yarl turned and looked to another young researcher at the other end of the crescent. “Haston?”
“Yes, thank you, Yarl. My Prince?” I nodded for him to proceed. He pointed at another book before him. His face looked far younger than his thinning hair otherwise suggested.
“This second book is more recent, written by our own head archivist when he was a young researcher.” He lifted his head and beamed in admiration toward Guthrie. “Its title is The Building of Valemidas. Amidst a long section about the palace, it says this: The dungeons of the palace have long been shrouded in mystery. Original construction reports claim the capacity to house two hundred prisoners. Recorded imprisonments have exceeded that number, as have recorded disappearances. There are two possible explanations: either these prisoners are executed in secret, or there is a place within the dungeons that holds more men. In recorded statements by men and women who have been imprisoned in the dungeons and later released, several spoke of warnings of torture worse than death in an underground city. Most of them believed this was a warning about hell or the afterlife. Other details were inconsistent and untrustworthy. The weight of evidence supports that there is a hidden place within the dungeons. This place was most likely constructed under the reign of Jonas. It could be the size of a small city, if the place was dug deep into the rock under the palace. Attempts to explore the dungeons and to find more information have been routinely and harshly rejected.”
The young man shut the tome and breathed out loudly.
“Thank you, Haston,” a woman’s voice said. She stood between Guthrie and Yarl, and her square shoulders were broader than either of theirs. Her hair was short, straight, and blonde. She looked at me calmly with stern, blue eyes. She might have been attractive if she smiled.
“My name is Page. I have devoted my life to studying Prince Jonas.” Pride filled her voice. “With the fragments of new information you provided to Guthrie about the Gloaming, I am confident that Jonas built the underground city. As you probably know, he had a lust for battle, for seeing what becomes of men when they must fight for their lives. He also wielded immense and ruthless power, more than any prince before or since—with your pardon, my Prince.” She looked at me unapologetically before moving on.
“You should also know that Jonas would have made the place inescapable.” She eyed me as if doubtful I had really been there and gotten out. “He was not a man to second guess a decision or to take unnecessary risks. The men who built the place were li
kely its first inhabitants. The disappeared Sunans would have been next. Jonas respected the Sunans because legend spoke of their fierce fighting against Prince Aden’s attempt at conquest, but he hated them because of how they had weakened the position of the prince. Prince Aden had shamed the position by his failed attempt to defeat the Sunans. Jonas spent his life restoring power to the throne, and he would not allow anyone to get in the way of that mission.”
“One last detail,” she said. “Jonas would never have sent a woman to the Gloaming. He loved women and treated them gently. A terror in battle, a delight in bed. That was what women close to him said.” A touch of pink showed on her cheeks.
“My Prince, do you have time to hear more?” Guthrie asked as soon as Page finished.
I gestured for him to continue. He touched the shoulder of the older man to his left. The man wore a strip of white cloth over his eyes.
“This is Finniel. We sometimes call him Grandfather Sunan. He has researched here a hundred years.” The group of researchers laughed but grew solemn as Guthrie raised his hand. “Finniel served my predecessor, Gavon, who disappeared a few months ago. The two of them together knew every word that has been written on the Sunans. They were working on a treatise about it. I fear someone did not want Gavon writing the last section of the book, about what is happening now in the foreign nation. Finniel will tell you why.”
“Yes, my Prince,” he said with a bow and a light foreign accent. He looked twice as old as Guthrie, and his blind gaze looked above my shoulder. “You have probably noticed by now that I can no longer see. I assure you that this recent impediment has not slowed my work. In fact, it may have served to save me for you. No one suspects an old, blind man, but Gavon and I worked together for many years. I serve Valemidas by lending insight into my people’s history, their culture and politics. I know more about Sunan than anyone on this continent.”
His voice was precise and confident as he addressed me. “But you have a specific question: why would Sunan invade Valemidas now? I believe there are three factors.”
He paused, as if waiting for me. “I would hear these factors, Finniel. Please go on.” I closed my eyes to listen, thinking it might help me better understand his words, his mind.
“First,” he began, “the invasion has for several generations been inevitable, just a matter of time. Bitterness has been passed down through generations against Valemidas. The Sunans view Prince Aden’s invasion as a bigoted and barbaric evil. You will recall that one of Prince Aden’s reasons for the invasion—maybe not a true reason, but a stated one—was to convert the Sunans to believe in the god of Valemidas, and to recover an ancient relic of Valemidas buried in Sunan. This is the sword, Zarathus. Aden succeeded in acquiring the sword, but lost almost everything else—he lost the war, he failed to convert the Sunans, and he traded his son for the seed of a tree. The Sunans have not forgotten. They are a devoted and disciplined people, and the freedom and success of Valemidas draws more of their ire.
“Second, Valemidas owes Sunan more gold than it could ever pay. The debt began generations ago, but the past four princes have compounded the borrowing. Prince Polin paid dearly for his luxuries. He was not known as Golden Polin for nothing. Polin’s successor, and your predecessor, ruled forty long years. As you know, he was known for doing little, and what little he did was rarely consistent. He did not inspire confidence and trade languished. There was no more borrowing from Sunan, but also no debt was paid off. The amount of interest owed became crippling. You inherited the debt and had shipped off a first payment just before we lost you. Tryst spent hugely to build up the Lycurgus, his permanent army, and now you are paying more than you have to Tryst’s victims, seeking to restore things. The Sunans will be aware of all this. They believe that we will never pay. They want the gold that is rightfully theirs.
“Third, and what really stokes these long-burning coals, is the new Sunan ruler, a boy named Ilir. The Sunans call him His Excellency and regard him as a god.” The old man’s expression grew sad. “Gavon was preparing to write what I will say next. This is hardly known in Sunan, and I thought he and I were the only ones in Valemidas who knew it.” He hesitated.
“What happened to Gavon?” I asked.
“He’s gone,” Finniel said, “and I feel certain he is dead. Whoever stole Gavon’s life also stole my sight. We were working in the archives alone, late one night. Gavon sensed a man’s presence and he immediately ordered that I fetch him more ink. When I walked away, a man attacked me. He likely thought I was a mere servant, rather than a partner, thanks to Gavon. The man threw me down. I looked into his cowl but saw only darkness and the whites of his eyes. He must have feared that I saw more, because then he stabbed my vision out. Despite the pain, I kept my mouth shut and pretended to pass out. The man then seized Gavon. I heard him speak a few muffled words, but then he was gone.” Finniel shook with a tearless sob. He breathed deeply and spoke on. “I might recognize the attacker’s scent or his voice if I were near him again, but either way, I believe we lost our great archivist because our research touched too close to this threatening story.”
“I am very sorry for your loss,” I said. My mind spun through the possibilities. Who in Valemidas would so fear a story about Sunan that he would stab an elderly man’s eyes out and kidnap the head archivist? I needed to learn more.
“Apologies, my Prince, but even a man as old as I can be passionate about such things.” Finniel cleared his throat and continued his story. “As I was saying, His Excellency is like a god. Two religious sects compete fiercely over what that means, but all agree on His Excellency having some touch of the divine. But Ilir, the young man who now sits on the throne, he is not from an established line. His father, Nadali, ended a lineage that had endured since Prince Aden’s invasion.”
“In those ancient days, Aden’s son integrated into Sunan, and he married the daughter of the Sunan king who had led them against Valemidas. Their son became the next king, and so the mingled blood of Valemidas and Sunan began a long reign. Many Sunans abhorred this mingling, including Nadali and a high priest named Malam. Nadali led a rebellion that resulted in the killing of the entire royal family. It was rumored that the reigning king’s son escaped. The Sunan’s last annual message of peace came that year.”
“When Nadali died in his old age two years ago, his fifteen-year-old son Ilir became the Excellency. The dead king’s brother, Seban, plotted secretly to seize power, but the Sunan religious leaders would not allow another upsetting of order. They have nearly as much power as His Excellency. So Seban and the two religious leaders, Ilias and Malam, agreed upon a truce—they would advise Ilir and rule Sunan as stewards until Ilir reached eighteen. Seban’s young son left Sunan around that time, because he was implicated in an attempted poisoning of Ilir. Malam was also implicated, but he has zealous followers among the people. Ilias agreed to allow Malam to stay on as steward, and in exchange, Malam agreed that he would unite with Ilias to stop Sunan from waging war against Valemidas. Without that pact, it is believed that Malam and Seban would have led Sunan to war already.”
“Why are the Sunans coming now?” I asked. “Why not a year from now or some other time?”
“Now that you understand the context, my Prince, you will see the answer is simple. Ilir will turn eighteen this winter, in two months. All signs are that he is like his father but worse, fueled by a desire to justify his father’s coup. No justification would be stronger than to conquer Valemidas and to complete Sunan’s vengeance against the stain of mixed blood. When he has full control, at eighteen, Ilir may do whatever he wishes. Nothing will be able to stop him from setting sail for war.”
Finniel’s final words were solemn, and his story made sense. I would have liked to have seen him as a young scholar. A Sunan embracing Valemidas, a missionary of culture.
“Thank you, Finniel.” I stood to go. I had stayed longer than my duties allowed.
“My Prince, if I may,” Guthrie said, “there is one mor
e link I should make, tying together the tales of our excellent researchers. This link may have been what caused the attack against Gavon and Finniel.”
“Yes, I can spare another moment.”
“Thank you, my Prince.” Guthrie pulled a folded note from his pocket. “Several years ago, Finniel found this paper tucked within an old tome about the Sunan royal family. It is a simple drawing of the royal family tree, with sketches of a few faces. Based on my expert judgment, I believe it is thirty years old, plus or minus a few years. It was going to be copied into the treatise that Gavon and Finniel were writing. We initially thought its value was only decorative, but based on your questions, I have come to believe it will mean much to you. I leave it to your eyes.”
He handed it to me and I unfolded it gently. It was a large, delicate paper, with many words written in the Sunan language on the top half, and lines connecting the words. From what Guthrie said, they were likely names, a family tree leading to five more names connected to five sketches at the bottom. The top two sketches were of a man and a woman, seemingly a man and his wife, as the three sketches below were of children. Two young girls, probably sisters, and a baby. I figured it was good to have a record of who the prior rulers of Sunan were, but I did not quite know what to make of it.
“Thank you,” I said, nodding to Guthrie before I turned to go. Finniel was gripping Guthrie’s arm tightly. Guthrie stood still, as if holding his breath. Their tension made me pause.
I looked down again and focused on the pictures, especially of the young man, probably the Sunan king at the time. Then my eyes froze on the young woman, and the girls and the baby. This was the family that was killed. Thirty years ago. Their son was rumored to have escaped Sunan.
My breath suddenly gave out. My chest compressed as if under a weight, a weight far heavier than the throne. I felt Ulysses and Jon grab my arms as I fell to my knees.
Breaking the Gloaming Page 6