When Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition was released, I found myself drawn to the absolutely phenomenal Shadowguard campaign, where graduates of the Sarakhan Empire's royal academy are enlisted in a group called the Shadowguard. Unfortunately, the developers never finished the saga, but I was deeply touched by the campaign and it inspired me to begin producing my own novel. Much like the campaign, the novel touches on themes of imperialism, the nature of belonging, and living in harmony with one another.
As the last vestiges of colour faded from the skies, the world itself began to slow and still. The cacophony of whirring engines, laughing children, and bleating livestock that filled the bustling city had long since faded, replaced instead by the hurried, frantic footfalls and hushed whispers of the last remaining Aydians that yet wandered the streetways. Unlike most nights, where the violent blizzards that barraged the northern tundra forced the denizens of the North to seek shelter, tonight's snowfall was gentle and merciful – a rare occurrence, and a reason for celebration. By all accounts, tonight presented the perfect opportunity for the city to remain astir; for the bards to sing their ballads, and for revellers to line the streets.
And yet, despite the rare reprieve from the unforgiving elements of the North, not a soul dared to remain outside for much longer than was absolutely necessary, for fear was rampant throughout the colony. Within mere moments, its disquieted inhabitants knew, the bell tower would strike its final toll of the day, plunging the world into an incumbent silence that it would only emerge from when the Autarch's bell-ringer lifted the curfew soon before sunrise.
Standing in the courtyard beneath the large dome that lofted high above the Royal Academy, Anya's fingers gently coiled about the short fence that encircled the fountain before her. Unlike the colony below, whose rivers and streams had frozen over, the waters here flowed and cascaded freely, gathering in rippling pools of azure at the base of the marble-encased sculpture depicting the founder of the sovereign state of Oudia, Autarch Balhut, who was revered by the citizens of Oudia for his conquest of the Aydian peninsula some three hundred years ago.
Anya's argentine eyes rose from the waters, landing on the regal countenance of the infamous warlord that was revered by Oudians, and cursed by the Aydians. Though they had never crossed paths, for his rule was long before her time, Anya knew much of him and his legacy. Learning why they – natives of the Southern dunes – had come to live here was a compulsory part of Oudian education. When Balhut first took over the Aydian peninsula, he declared that the Astral Steppe, home to the mystics that had lived in the mountains for roughly six millennia, would be where the capital of Oudia, Barzakh, would be established.
Over the course of some fifty years, Balhut expanded the borders of his sovereignty, displacing some fifteen thousand Aydians in the process. To cement his rule, he offered the learned of Aydia a place on his royal court; in exchange for them renouncing their sovereignty and adopting a newfound identity as Oudians, he would spare them and their families. This group came to be known as the Fuqaha, and they established the Royal Academy directly in the centre of Barzakh, an establishment that would ultimately cement Oudia's status as a legitimate state in the eyes of its neighbours. A cultural hub of knowledge that provided the world with advancements in science, medicine and magick could not possibly be known as an oppressive state, the Fuqaha reasoned.
A loud, discordant series of chimes drew Anya from her thoughts, prompting Anya to lift her gaze from the statue, sending it out towards the distant point beneath the skyline where the bell tower loomed over the adjacent village. The curfew had officially arrived, and with it, a pure, unadulterated silence washed over the realm below. With its final chime lingering in the air, the last flicker of ember-fuelled candlelight was extinguished, and the curfew had officially begun.
***
The sound of footfalls sounded atop the porcelain stones of the courtyard's footpath, stealing Anya's attention. A familiar stride, echoed in Anya's mind, for those footsteps belonged to one that had made her acquaintance far too often. The figure stopped some several paces from Anya, wearing a ruby-embossed circlet that glinted beneath the ardent moonlight that illuminated the courtyard.
"Anya," the feminine voice beckoned. "It is most unlike you to disobey the Autarch's curfew." Despite the words spoken, the tone was friendly and familiar. The woman offered Anya a wry smile as she approached, the echo of heeled boots across the courtyard disturbing the otherwise tranquil space.
"Perhaps He could be benevolent enough to make an exception – considering the circumstances," Anya replied curtly, her tone bereft of any such amusement as her fingers retracted. She slowly turned to face her company, hands neatly folding against her chained tabard. Though the woman said naught in response, the expression on her visage, namely the quirk at the corner of her lips and the glitter in those cerulean eyes, suggested she was amused by the response. Anya's head tilted slightly, and, with an arched brow, she asked, her tone laced with mistrust and curiosity in equal parts, "Did Yasmeen send you to make sure I wasn't planning to run away?"
"Come now, sweetie..." came a tender voice. "You know better than to refer to the Magistrate by Her name and not Her honorific." The tone itself was playful, though her joyful demeanour waned as she made her forward, eclipsing the space between herself and Anya in but a few, hurried steps. Then, her tone fell with her expression, and a hushed whisper carried forth her words. "I figured you were having second thoughts," came her confession. "It's only natural to--"
"Second thoughts? Citizenship is all any Oudian desires," Anya interrupted, her tone bereft of emotion. Her gloved fingers rose, tips resting against the symbol of Oudia that she wore around her neck. An amulet of sapphire and ruby, a moon eclipsed by a blade, graced the neck of every Oudian student of the Royal Academy. "To cast aside the last twenty years at the behest of some errant thought?" Anya scoffed. "We did not conquer these lands by second guessing ourselves, Maya."
"You did not," Maya retorted gently, her voice wavering slightly so as not to provoke Anya. "Nor I, nor the Magistrate, nor any of us. None of the extant Oudians had any such role to play in the Founding." Long digits laced with all manner of jewels, from aventurines, garnets and onyx gems to emeralds and rubies, cast themselves out over the peninsula, bidding Anya to send her gaze out over it. Beneath the mountainous region upon which the academy resided, a once quaint but now haggard and antiquated village stood on the very edge of the peninsula, surrounded by a frozen, lifeless ocean, its only source of light the stray beams of luminous moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the mountains upon which Barzakh stood.
"The irony of it all. That those with the coldest hearts enjoy luxuries, warmth, and comfort, whilst women and children, inhabitants of this land that have lived here since time immemorial, forage for aught to sustain them but another day. Who wouldn't second guess themselves?" Maya's tone had since become wistful and distant. The sight before her was one that Anya had seen countless times, for she spent most of her nights in the courtyard. From this vantage point, the forlorn village appeared exanimate, bereft of life, though Anya knew that its population contained several hundred Aydians, among them a number of refugees and Oudian dissidents. Though the sight often sobered her, it did naught to stir Anya's heart, for the Aydians had been a cruel, callous people. To her, they suffered now for the weighty sins of their forebears' actions. Anya had been taught that such was the way of the world: all sinners would live to see their actions manifest themselves in reality. And the existence of Oudia was nothing more than the fulfilment of this cosmological edict.
"You do not intend to accept your citizenship tomorrow?" Anya asked, piercing a long bout of silence with her cool and inquisitive tone. The mere thought of casting aside the last twenty years at the Academy was an utterly incredulous proposition, Anya thought. Countless years spent learning the Arts of magick, science, alchemy, martial combat, diplomacy, bureaucracy, all in the hopes of attaining a certificate of Oudian citizenship from the Autarch himself. To give it all up on the eve of one's graduation would be a fool's errand. Surely Maya couldn't be considering it.
"I'll be there," came her reply. Though she spoke quietly in an effort to hide the hesitation in her voice, Anya could readily hear the sense of conflict that laced Maya's undertone. "I'll not waste the last two decades of my life spent in this Academy on nothing. I simply hope that my actions can help mend the ties that have been broken for so, so long. We are not born to suffer, Anya. We are born to live. So too are they..."
Anya offered nothing in response, instead electing to close her eyes. Her features, though pensive, remained bereft of expression and emotion. The two of them had grown up together, having both been enlisted in the Royal Academy at the tender age of seven. This was something they'd discussed often – the matter of Oudian sovereignty, and the legitimacy of the colony beneath its watch. Tonight, Anya had decided that she would not oblige the conversation. Instead, she shifted her weight to one side, rested the palm of her hand against the hilt of her ceremonial blade, Hukm, gifted to her by the Magistrate Yasmeen, and then turned her gaze skyward. Silence filled the space between them for what seemed like an eternity, before Anya pierced it with a supercilious remark,
"Judgement comes for all, dear Maya."