Monday, October 15, 2012
His life changed at exactly the time life changes for most people - first love. Zandu was 17, she was a bit younger. They had courted over the winter holidays, and consummated their love during the heady rites of spring. As summer drew, Zandu prepared his donkey and cart for the usual travels, but this time with excited breathless promises of a hasty return to his love.
Like so many his age, he was to be haunted by Gaedron Lamm even as he stayed beyond his clutch. Upon his return in the wane of summer, his flame was not to be found, not even her family. He knew there was only one way to find her, and visited an aunt in Korvosa who was rich with Harrow talent. It was she who told Zandu of the young girl found brutalized and left for dead. She who told him of his love's proclamation of revenge for the injustice that allowed Lamm to survive. She, who told him of her body found, brutalized in exactly the same manner, jammed against a dock pier.
That reading, his first emotional connection to harrow, revealed another truth. His own path had only then showed itself, and it was a long path indeed. His path was lit by a special lantern bearer, The Locksmith. A master of tools, The Locksmith worked on the mysteries of lifetimes. His knowledge gave him every advantage he could possibly need, and his dedication to his craft was his hallmark. His tools were the building blocks of everything, especially magic and harrow.
Now, at 26, he was an acclaimed Academy Graduate. It had taken him eight years to complete his training and reach his accomplished status. Most of his considerable tuitions he had raised himself as a performer in the drink halls of Korvosa, playing gitar and reading fortunes with a copied harrow deck. He was a conjurer by study, and accomplished enough to have been invited to author his class's graduation treatise. He had declared in his treatise his focus of study would be the relationship between wizards and their bonded items. His choice of bearing a bonded item instead of a companion marked him as very different from your typical impers. But then, a Varisian wizard was far from typical.
He was looking forward to meeting with his old friends, Sterk and Bordana. He had decided to leave Ace and his cart behind, and as he walked to the bar (he knew them all) he couldn't help but pick up on a scent... the faint scent ... of ... Fate in the air.