Empress. The town had always had a rough vibrancy, like the rich organic smell of a swamp, and he drank it in along with the rumors to assure himself of the city’s survival. Now, however, he found that he rarely ventured down to the streets to savor it.
Not that he was afraid for his safety, mind you. Whether it was due to his long standing membership in the community, his well known neutrality and harmlessness, deference to his position as the Beysa’s advisor, or a combination of all of these factors, his passage through town was never challenged. Rather, he often hid within the palace shadows and corridors to spare himself the heartache of witnessing what was happening to his beloved Sanctuary.
The spirit of the town he knew had been born of parents named Poverty and
Desperation. While he had cursed the crime and filth along with the rest of the citizens, there had also been a secret pride in the inherent toughness of
Sanctuary’s inhabitants. Like the scrappy optimism of a bright-eyed gutter predator, there had been a certainty that the town would survive regardless of whatever hardships fate or the Rankan Empire could throw at it. Small moments of tenderness or self-sacrificing heroics shone all the brighter here, as uncon testable evidence of the strength of the human spirit.
Then two changes occurred almost simultaneously: the Beysib arrived and Ranke’s
Stormgod had either died or retreated into oblivion.
As Sanctuary’s fortunes literally rose through the influx of Beysib wealth, the