Preamble
Against the might of a vast empire Hanuvar had only a dwindling supply of funds, an aging sword arm, and me. It was precious little to take into the land of his enemies, especially when compared to the train of elephants and tens of thousands of soldiers he’d led against them years before. Had the Dervans understood the paucity of his resources, they might have reacted to rumors of his return very differently.
They assumed him bent on vengeance. After all, they had reduced his city to rubble and led the pitiful remnant of his people to slave blocks and thence their dismal futures. With that in mind, they were certain he schemed to drown the empire in blood.
Yes, they rightly feared him. The Dervans knew first hand that Hanuvar possessed characteristics held by few and fully matched by none. His was the finest military mind in the world, a searing, flexible intellect paired with an astonishing determination, bolstered by a lifetime of wisdom and experience.
Those were not his only gifts. He was endowed with an unparalleled clarity of vision, a confident surety that was never conceit. Trial and tragedy had burned off the dross of vanity and pride that weight the lives of normal men; his experiences had not transformed him so much as provided fuel for the forge he had used to shape himself into a tool to achieve aims the Dervans had misunderstood from the start. Hanuvar’s war had never been one of conquest. He had first marched to stop the Dervan dream of empire through force of arms, thinking their defeat would preserve the liberty of his people. He’d advanced achingly close to victory and the Dervans never forgave him for it.
Now, upon his return, his goal remained essentially the same, and he labored ceaselessly toward it. No matter where they’d been sent, from the sprawling capital to the furthest outpost of the Dervan Empire, Hanuvar meant to find his people. Every last one of them. And he would set them free.
—Antires Sosilos, Book Seven