by Chad Huskins
Drea looked at Thryis, who bit her lip worriedly.
They gave each other’s hand a squeeze—Drea didn’t know who needed it more, her or Thryis, but it gave them the requisite courage.
The girls followed her into the shadows.
Overhead, veins of fire opened up across the sky. The wind picked up. The snow became a full blizzard.
The fellstorm had fully arrived.
“Tell me, Drea,” said the Lady as they caught up to her, “how much do you know about the true history of Drith?”
:The Foundations of Drith:
Drith, known to the world as the City of Gods, the City of Steam, and the City of Cities, rose from the rough hills just east of the Sea of Leagues Uncounted. It had been founded some thousand years before Drea had been born, as first a small trading village, then as a township, and then as a main hub of industry.
They came up from the shores of the White Sands, those first explorers. Salt traders and pearl hunters, most likely. These were the first men and women of Drith—not warriors, not killers, not conquerors or kings, just traders.
Lots of the old history was lost, for in those dim ages there had been no papyrus or wax tablets to write on, and probably no writing system to speak of. But stories passed down orally told of their ancestors bringing up salt from the sea and trading it with those who lived further inland. There were no great cities back then, the old sages claimed, and no great kingdoms, only nomadic peoples.
Eventually, someone must have come up with the idea of creating a halfway point between the sea and the people who lived farther inland, a kind of outpost where traders could stop and rest on their long journeys.
It was said that the first people to come up with this idea were the Four Patron Families: Crycekus, Syphenus, Greuthungus, and Kalderus
According to legend, it was the Kalderus who first suggested planting permanent crops, and the water from the nearby Split River had made farming easy. Winters were not so harsh here as other places in the world, the summers not so cruel.
Songs that had been passed down for generations told that this was how the first settlement was established, with quiet farmers and humble tradesmen. After a hundred years or so, it swelled into the first semblance of a city.
The oldest writings first referred to the settlement as queycha, which some said meant “heart” or “soul” in the Old Tongue—a language now spoken only by the kudrai creatures outside the city.
Back then, the main settlement was situated at the center of a giant island at the center of the Split River. In time, bridges would traverse the Split, connecting the island nucleus to the ever-expanding boundaries of the city.
The first king was said to be named Ordal, a man raised by lions, who rode on the backs of them and hunted with them, and when he died his spirit rose into the sky on the back of a Great Lion and disappeared into the sky, becoming the first star constellation.
But the settlement did not get its name until the stranger named Driythe came to save the people from a giant wyrm named Arakus, who apparently haunted the waters of the Split for generations, devouring men, women, and children. Driythe was a wandering adventurer, they said, who did good deeds on behalf of the gods. A champion of the people.
The battle was bloody. After fighting uphill for two days, Driythe finally skewered Arakus with his spear, tore the beast apart, and allowed the settlers to feast upon its meat. The event was celebrated each spring with the Festival of Arakus, during which all serpents in the city were hunted and cooked, and fed in a banquet in the Forum.
Drith had passed through many phases of government, most of them marked by great bloodlettings. There was Jarkonen the Elder, the king who murdered every one of his sons, so that he would have no contenders to the throne. There was Gegasus the Cruel, who, once he conquered the faraway city of Mathys, had all the children sold into slavery so that bloodlines were forever lost, the tongues of their parents cut out so that their language would die, and had the city itself burned to the ground in the hope that the Mathysians would perish from history.
Twenty more kings like this, all bloodthirsty, all craving endless power. King Ignastia the Dire, King Zinnius the Thinker, King Nolhatha and his brothers who shared the crown, the mad King Kun who thought he saw demons in every shadow and instituted the first laws of slavery in Drith.
Slavery was what made the city truly flourish. Almost all historians agreed on this point. Slaves were not entitled to land, so there would be no competition from them for farming property. They had no rights, no claim to family names, and could be killed by their owners at any time, which compelled them to work harder than any other mortal man could.
Slaves also made warring easier, for while Drithean soldiers were away fighting in distant lands, the slaves could take care of their masters’ households, accounts, and private affairs.
Wars brought more riches into Drith than ever dreamt. Conquerors such as King Danib and King Mustik brought back jewels from all corners of the world. The coffers of the Drithean government were overflowing. With stolen riches coming in from almost everywhere, and with free slave labor, Drith soon became the largest, wealthiest, and most beautiful city in the world.
Poets and singers came from all over to perform in Drith. The city attracted philosophers and architects, laborers, men seeking their fame and fortune. Everyone honored and worshipped the kings, almost as much as they did the gods.
But, of course, kings will be kings, and kings will be dissatisfied, and they will push boundaries too far. They will gather enemies, men who want to kill the kings to become kings themselves.
It was a cycle no government could go without, it seemed.
On and on it went, one king usurping another, until at last came King Ismoj the Wise, who felt that no one man could be trusted with all-encompassing power. He formed the Senate, and allowed one hundred representatives into the fold, each senator to be elected by the people of their city district. No women would be permitted to be a senator, though, nor be allowed to even hear Senate proceedings.
Then, two hundred and seventy years after the Senate had been formed, there came the reign of the emperors—the Imperators, they called themselves. The first one, Imperator Dakois, was elected by the people. However, once in office, he instituted a law that said once an Imperator was elected, he held the office for life.
But there was a problem with that system. The Senate, a body of elected officials, which had been formed to discuss matters openly and vote on them, stood in direct conflict with the very idea of an Imperator.
And so began the bloody mess of senators colluding with one another behind the backs of their Imperators. The rulers were sometimes poisoned, sometimes stabbed, sometimes strangled, though the culprits were not always caught and the motives were not always known.
Imperators had been assassinated before, yes, but there was always a reason. Drea knew this much. There was always a reason that a ruler took a knife in the back, always a reason someone handed him a poisoned fruit.
Drea knew all this, yes. That’s why, when Lady Blackveil asked her how much she knew about the true history of Drith, she quickly replied with, “I know enough.”
“Do you?” The woman’s green eyes were visible by the flash of fell-lightning. “Do you truly? Do you know your family’s part in that bloody history, then?”
“The Kalderus brought philosophy and dignity to the city when it had none,” Drea said. “We created the first writing system, and modes of thinking that no man had ever conceived. Philosophies on the gods and their will—”
“The gods and their will,” the Lady snorted. “The gods and their will. Yes. The gods are fickle and enigmatic, indeed. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Gods and philosophy are the least of what the Kalderus represented. The most important thing you need to know is that the name Kalder is just that, a name. And a name can carry a person far, or hold them back forever.”
“I know what my name means,” Drea said. “I
know that it is the only reason I was chosen to be the Imperator’s bride, because it made him appear connected to the people and to the founding of Drith, and he needed that because he was of foreign blood.”
Lady Blackveil made a tsk sound. “No,” she said. “I am not talking about what your name means for you or for others. I am asking if you understand that, merely by having a certain name, you have been given a gift? A gift that no other man or woman outside of a Patron Family could ever know.”
Drea started to ask her what she meant, but then the woman continued.
“Your name means you will never be like me,” Blackveil said. “Your name means you will never be like your friend Halorax. He was a slave, and so was I. We met often in the Forum, on errands from our separate masters—his a nobleman, and mine a weaponsmith—only he was lucky to have a master kind enough to free him after many years of service, whereas I had to slit my master’s throat to become free.”
Drea and Thryis both stopped and gasped, horrified by the woman’s admission.
Lady Blackveil stopped and looked at them. “What? Are you surprised I would admit to such a thing?”
“You killed your master?” Drea said. “Why?”
Blackveil’s green eyes studied her. “It always surprises me just how strange people like you think it is to kill one’s master.” She shook her head ruefully. You cannot empathize with the plight of a slave—”
“I can,” Drea blurted. “Because…because I’ve considered it, too. Pushing back against those who want to control you, I mean.”
Lady Blackveil gave Drea a look of renewed interest. A flash of fell-lightning lit the world. The snow thickened in the air. The wind was becoming frightfully cold.
There came a whistle from somewhere…or was it a howl? Yes, definitely a howl of some kind. It might only have been the wind, but Lady Blackveil appeared to regard it with suspicion. “We have to keep moving,” she said, waving them on.
“As for your name, it is littered throughout the history of Drith. Volumes of The Histories are filled with the name Kalder, in both the founding of the city and in its ruling. Senator Drace Kalder of the Fifth District, for instance, was the owner of a vast pottery business before he took office. Senator Bren Kalder of the Third District was a poet and philosopher, as was his son, Bren the Younger, who followed him.”
“I know my family has served this city well.”
“But do you know what they did to keep their offices, little girl?” Blackveil said. “Do you know what they did to make sure the foundations of Drith would always have the name Kalder carved into them? Do you know what they did to maintain their Patron bloodlines and their Patron rights?”
Blackveil’s green eyes looked at her with pity. Drea disliked it immediately.
The woman continued, unabated. “Do you know what they sacrificed? Do you know how much they killed? How many lives they ruined? Has anyone ever taught you the destruction left in the wake of your family’s workings?”
Drea shook her head.
“No, of course you were spared those gory details. It would have been inconvenient for you to know what crimes were committed so that you could have a life of comfort, of dolls and combs and pretty things.” She snorted in disgust.
“You still haven’t told me what your letter promised me,” Drea said. “The things about my mother and father.”
Lady Blackveil turned down another alley, moving so quickly that both Drea and Thryis had to jog to keep up. The howling became louder, echoing down every street, from every building. It was as if something was chasing them.
Gods above and below, what a cursed night, Drea thought.
“So I haven’t,” said Blackveil finally. “Very well. Your family has been dismantled because of a centuries-old squabble. Did you ever hear that?”
“What are you talking about?” Drea asked. “What squabble?”
“There are different versions of the story, but the one most often repeated has to do with your ancestor, from more than eight hundred years ago. A soldier named Hegar Kalder—Hegar the Late, they called him.”
Drea winced. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t. What an embarrassing story to tell. Apparently, the poor man had bowel problems—well, that was his side of the story, anyway—and he showed up late just before battle, when all representatives of the Four Patron Families were expected to be present for a ceremony set by the priests, to bless the battleground in the name of the gods and make all Drithean soldiers invincible.
“According to the story, Hegar showed up just late enough so that the ceremony could not be finished in time. The enemies, a group of Yazonians, charged at the Drithean soldiers, and so the battle was started.”
Drea shook her head. “I’ve never heard of this battle. Did the Dritheans win?”
“Eventually, yes, after many years of fighting. But not that day. That day, the Dritheans were slaughtered, even though they outnumbered the Yazonians, even though they had better weapons, and even though they had the high ground. And guess who the surviving Drithean soldiers blamed for their defeat?”
Drea could guess the answer. “Hegar Kalder.”
Lady Blackveil guided them into another narrow alley. “Correct. And among those surviving soldiers was a man named Orick Syphen, who would never let Hegar forget his mistake.”
“Orick Syphen,” Drea said. “The author of The Way.”
“The very same,” Blackveil said.
“But what has any of this got to do with me?”
“After completing their four years of military service, they were permitted to go through the Trials of Honor, which allows men of Drith to seek public office. They each became senators. Rivals.”
“Rivals? Because my ancestor showed up late?”
Blackveil nodded. “They went at each other’s throats in the Senate. Orick Syphen wanted to institute laws that would force all Drithean males to enlist in the military, but Hegar stood against it. Orick always found a way to use Hegar’s tardiness during the battle to make Hegar seem like a coward, a buffoon, timid in all military affairs.
“Their rivalry continued for six years, until finally they killed one another in a knife duel. Their sons, though, they carried on the rivalry, each man claiming that the other’s father was some kind of criminal or coward.
“Eventually, there came a man named Bor Syphen, who rivaled an ancestor of yours named Zennit Kalder. They were present at the opening of the Temple of Loraci, and they had an argument during the consecration ceremonies.”
“What did they argue about?” Thryis asked.
“Bor said that no Kalder ought to be present, on account that coward’s blood ran in their veins. Accounts vary, but it is generally believed that Zennit Kalder, a general in his own time, proved he was no coward by challenging Bor to a duel and slaying him.”
Drea nodded. “I recall reading a family tree of the Syphenus that covered Bor Syphen’s death,” she said. “But I’ve never heard any of these stories of cowardice in my family.”
“It is not much talked about now. That’s because, for a time, Zennit Kalder served under King Kun the Mad. Together, they slew more innocents in more conquered lands than all previous kings combined. After that, none dared call Kalder a coward again. Thus came the words: Kalder does not bend.”
Lady Blackveil looked at Drea.
“Your family’s fortune rose from past wars. The jade combs and pretty dolls you were raised on come from money passed down from before you were even born.”
Drea nodded. “I know that we did well for ourselves.”
“House Kalder brought many slaves into Drith. Thousands. And you brought the golden crowns of dead kings, as well as jewels robbed from their tombs. Everyone respected the Kalderus, even the Syphenus.
“Still, House Syphen never forgot that their family’s blood had been spilled in violence at the Temple of Loraci. On the day of its opening, no less! Eventually, a meeting was called, one that included a
l the heads of the many Syphenus families. A pledge was given, an oath to dismantle the Kalderus. And thus began the centuries of plotting behind curtains, closed doors, and the cloak of night.”
“I’ve never heard any of this,” Drea said.
“These are all stories that would be kept from your ears, but would be whispered down through the centuries to families such as those who enslaved me. And slaves hear everything, little girl. Trust that.”
Drea was confused. She felt like she was missing something. How did any of this pertain to why she was here?
She waited patiently, and finally Blackveil continued.
“Your ancestors have been in a silent war with the Syphenus for uncounted centuries, little girl,” she said. “Daggers in the night, poisons in a cup, endless plots against your name, until finally those plots reached your father. And your mother. And now you.”
Drea felt the hairs prick up on the back of her neck. “What do you mean? My father was killed by a madman in the street, in a triumph for soldiers returning from war. He was walking alongside the Imperator when the dung-covered man lost his mind and attacked Fedarus. My father threw himself in front of the madman—”
“Are you sure that’s how it happened?” Blackveil asked.
Drea blinked. “Of course I am! I was there, cheering my father on from the sidelines of the procession—”
“Yes, but are you sure it was a madman that killed him?”
“All witnesses that had seen the man before said his mind was gone. He spoke to air, and bathed himself in his own dung and urine. A complete madman.”
Blackveil came to a halt near the Library of Drith, then turned and looked at Drea. That pitying look returned to her face again, and Drea hated her for it. “That might be the truth of it,” she allowed. “But it might also be that it was elsewise. And that your mother, who killed herself in grief weeks later, did not commit suicide.”
Drea felt a cord wrap around her heart. The mention of her mother forced her to recall the vision of her…dead in front of the fireplace. “What do you mean? Of course my mother committed suicide. I found her…”
