The Golden Book of Khanlar

 

 

 

Lost in time, Khanlar is a land where Guardians of an Ancient Knowledge face the superstitions, bigotry and dogma of the Priests who have controlled Church and State for more than a millennium.  It is a society where only a few Aristocrats have control of their own destiny, in a land of independent States that are ruled by a handful of hereditary Princes, who continuously compete with each other in an ongoing intrigue of Battles, Treaties and ever changing Alliances.  In the Palaces of Khanlar's many City States the Princes and Bishops who control the lives of all the people, vie with each other in the Art of Excess.  Yet it was not always so . . .

When the flood that was to destroy all of the Ancient World was at its height, the Goddess Herthe plunged her hands into the ocean and she brought forth Khanlar from the waters. Then Herthe gathered up her most devoted followers, along with their wives, children and kinfolk and also their servants, slaves and livestock and then she brought them to Khanlar.  And to each of her followers Herthe gave a Nation, telling them to rule the people therein in her name and to her honor for all time.  So did Herthe create the land of Khanlar and populate the Nations.

 


 

Chapter One

THE SURVIVOR

 Consciousness entered his brain like smoke will slowly rise from a smoldering campfire on a still morning.  The realization that life still existed woke forgotten senses within him, like little explosions of feeling making each new experience singular unto itself, or random raindrops bursting in the dust of a dry country road.  It was like being reborn.  He was floating in an unknown gray emptiness where flashes of pain sang like arrows and he was unable to control the helplessness he felt in the swirling of senses that imprisoned his mind in that abstract world of terror.

His eyes ached with all the pressure of someone leaning their whole weight upon them with clenched fists and he knew better than to try to open them yet.  He explored his head with trembling fingers, finding that his hair was wet, wet with the softness of cold rain, wet with the dank grease of perspiration, wet with the warmth of blood.  His blood!  With unsteady fingers he traced in pain the warm break in his flesh, a ragged hair entangled wound that ran from his forehead almost to the crown of his head.  Already it was beginning to congeal, clotting into damp scabs that pulled the entangled hair in pinpricks of agony every time he moved.

At last the floating sensation ended, and suddenly he was heavy, aching, cramped, cold and tired beneath the weight of complete exhaustion.  The groping for knowledge became a reality.  He was alive!  Then without any warning his nervous system orchestrated itself, sending messages of pain screaming along each nerve into the confusion that was his mind.  Pain! Exhaustion! Cold He finally caught hold of the groping realization that he just might be dying! 

He was however, still alive, and the pain was almost a comfort, for it proved life.  Yet the cold and damp became like huge wet hands stroking gleefully away at his strength.  He lay huddled in wet mud, his back uncomfortable against the rough solid of an ancient tree.  His wet feet were aching with cold and when he looked down at them he saw they were caked in heavy layers of ochre colored clay, their shape almost lost.  His left knee throbbed with pain and he could see that it had been badly torn.  From the kneecap to halfway up his thigh, blood was seeping from the blue and purple mash that had once been flesh.  His clothes were torn and stained with filth, their true colors lost and forgotten.  He moved to try to help the cramp in his back and the sudden breath wrenching stabbing pain beneath his heart informed him that some of his ribs were probably no longer intact.  His hands were battered and ripped, aching with the cold and his arms were coated in mud and drying blood. 

There was no arguing the fact.  He had problems!  Before he could weigh his chances, or come up with a course of action, the exhaustion returned and he slipped away into an undeniable sleep, where nightmares of many armed giants and sinking sands fought for possession of his screaming mind. 

Yelling a bloodcurdling war cry the headless dwarf came crashing through the thorn bushes at him, carrying a swirling long sword in each hand.  The dwarf came faster than a full-grown man could run, blood pumping from the stump of a neck from which his head had recently been removed. 

Just as the dwarf’s first sword stroke cut down and touched his bound and helpless body – he was awake.  There was no murderous and headless dwarf.  It took several seconds of painful squirming against invisible bonds before he became truly conscious and the nightmare gave way to reality and a more rational understanding of the situation.  Not that fact was that much better than the nightmare itself at that moment.  His memory was gone and no amount of mental exercise could unlock the dark place it had retreated into.  There was Now, there was Here and there was Pain and there was a growing despair that this just might be Hell, which he knew of and could well describe, yet was unable to recall from whom or even where, he had learned of such things.

In the ghostly light of the pre-dawn his eyes made out the debris of the battle that had all but destroyed him and might well claim him yet.  He had obviously taken a heavy sword stroke to the head, for his helmet lay a few feet from his feet, rent from the head of the nose-guard across the right plate to just below the tail of the crest.  A few feet beyond it lay the swordsman who had landed that blow; a battle axe embedded in the man's throat where the neck joined the shoulders.  His dead enemy's young-old face was a waxy white.  There was obviously little blood left in him and soon he would be gone altogether for millions of tiny ants were encrusting the hand which even in death still tried to remove the axe.  They covered the dead youth's body, almost concealing his once smart maroon tunic. 

The two of them had a lot of company in the swamp that morning.  Everywhere the remains of the battle showed that few had deserted their cause before Death had taken the final hand in each man's game of Fate.  It could only have been one of those chance situations between his enemy's maroon uniformed companions and the blue uniformed army he had served, in that no one on either side had been able to break and run for safety and so they had stood and fought on a small island.  Any fool unwise or coward enough to bolt and run into the swamp, would have been rewarded with a crossbow bolt or a javelin in the back before he would have been able to struggle a few yards.  With no escape possible and no alternative but to slash it out hand to hand at close quarters, the carnage had been terrible.  The dead lay speared, beheaded and dismembered all around them, friend and foe alike. 

No Cause could rescue them for their families and loved ones now.  Half floating in the swamp, ingloriously draped across thorn bushes, collapsed like bundles of old clothing on the grassy banks that made up the island, they shared death together in that unique silence.  The stench made his stomach heave but it was the silence, deathly quiet except for the heartless buzzing of the feasting flies and the occasional caw of a carrion crow, which tore apart his sanity.  It was a world of death, with wraiths of morning mist hanging above the stagnant water like dead souls unsure of where they were expected to depart.  It was a place where no man would wish to die.

 

* * * * * * *

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The Khanlarians

A Novel by John H. Hathaway-Bates

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1 – THE SURVIVOR

CHAPTER 2 - HAVOR'S HOLDING

Recuperation

The Simple Life

The End of the World and Beyond

Lost in the Backwoods

CHAPTER 3 - PRIEST OF PRIESTS

Ruler of the Known World

Controlled Anarchy

CHAPTER 4 -THE RENEWING

The Wife of a Charcoal Maker

CHAPTER 5 – THE BUYER

CHAPTER 6 – THE LEAVING

The End of Tranquility

CHAPTER 7 – TAKING THE POWER

Council of War

CHAPTER 8 – MANATOR THE GUARDIAN

Manator's Tale

City of Dismay

From Shame to Respectability

The Arrow

CHAPTER 9 – TO CHANGE HISTORY

The Last Prince of the Royal Blood

CHAPTER 10  -  AND IF THERE WERE NO GODS

A Just Code

If Not Yourself, Then Who

The Ancient Game of Khanlar

An Ancient Knowledge

A Journey Abroad

The Khan's Guard

A Miracle at Kiba

A Quiet Garden

CHAPTER 11 – REBIRTH OF THE BROTHERHOOD

A Mean City

The Prince of Atare

CHAPTER 12 – HISTORIES OF UNKNOWN PEOPLE

A New Order of Things

Karidan the Farmer

Jakrin the Tailor

Hatren's Wagon

Preparing to be the Khan

A Great and Honorable Cause

Before the Storm

CHAPTER 13 - PRINCE, PRIEST OR FOOL

Creating the Base

A New and Better Future

And the Legions Build

Where Stands a Wife at the Start of a Campaign?

CHAPTER 14 – SECRET PASSAGE

A Worldly Agent

A Different World

A Merchant Prince

The Monks of Mansa

The Village of Grandar

The Most Beautiful City on Earth

A Holy Battle Plan

CHAPTER 15 – INVASION

Absence Intensifies Change‚

The Paradox of a True and Trusting Life

A New Order of Things

A Life Without Recognition

Who Wears the Crown?

Embarkation

CHAPTER 16 – ESCAPE FROM DESPAIR

Imperial Confusion

Victory Eases Further Victory

Garrison

The Surrender of Goja

CHAPTER 17 – LITTLE STORIES

Iregana Matek, Citizen of Vanzor

The Apostle Jiranir

General Jarandar

Jilitar the Stone Mason

Parsis the Slave

Liana the Beggar Girl

The Romance of Spring and Autumn

Tomak the Warrior

All Debts are Tallied

Outlaw and Aristocrat

CHAPTER 18 – WAITING FOR WAR

A Future is Made Not Won

Tactics

Nature Bows to No Man

Double Bluff

Night March

Someone Always Loses

CHAPTER 19 – BUILDING THE PEACE

Satisfaction is the Greatest Prize of Victory

The Meeting

A Fall from Grace

There are None so Blind as the Uninformed

The Treaty of Kitania

CHAPTER 20 – LIFE NEEDS TO BE LIVED

The Director General

The Feeding of an Empire

Willamir the Game Warden

Lamor Jazerian - The Policeman

The Bargee

Malinda's Downfall

CHAPTER 21 – BALANCE AND COUNTERBALANCE

From Grace to Damnation is but One Step

The Grand Ball

From a Woman's Point of View

A Mentor's Advice

Counter Attack

The Outlaw Brigade

The War Room

Fate Sometimes Laughs

Right Place, Wrong Time

Enemies Sometimes Look Like Friends

Prayers and War Cries

A Soldier's Best Friend is Luck

Sometimes the Gods Sleep

Beyond Understanding and Forgiveness

CHAPTER 22 - CONSOLIDATION

Retribution

Tarigan the Shepherd

Sergeant Brador

Farigor's Orchard

Prince Gregorian of Atare

Battle Play

CHAPTER 23 - RETRIBUTION

The Herald of Khanlar

The End of an Era

Confinement on Pazor

The Khan's Council

Never Underestimate the Power of Vengeance

Power is only of the Moment

CHAPTER 24 – THE NEW ORDER

Epilogue or Prologue

A New and Uncharted Future

 

© Copyright:  John H. Hathaway-Bates - 2008 - Beverly Hills, California USA