FORTRESS OF RADIANCE
MARC ALAN EDELHEIT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Fortress of Radiance, The Karus Saga, Book Two
First Edition
Copyright © 2018 by Marc Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
I wish to thank my agent, Andrea Hurst, for her invaluable support and assistance. I would also like to thank my beta readers, who suffered through several early drafts. My betas: Jon Cockes, Nicolas Weiss, Melinda Vallem, Paul Klebaur, James Doak, David Cheever, Bruce Heaven, Erin Penny, April Faas, Rodney Gigone, Brandon Purcell, Tim Adams, Paul Bersoux, Phillip Broom, David Houston, Sheldon Levy, Michael Hetts, Walker Graham, Bill Schnippert, Jan McClintock, Jonathan Parkin, Spencer Morris, Jimmy McAfee, Rusty Juban, Marshall Clowers, Joel Rainey. I would also like to take a moment to thank my loving wife, who sacrificed many an evening and weekend to allow me to work on my writing.
Editing Assistance by Hannah Streetman, Audrey Mackaman
Cover Art by Piero Mng (Gianpiero Mangialardi)
Cover Formatting by Telemachus Press
Agented by Andrea Hurst & Associates
http://maenovels.com/
Chronicles of a Legionary Officer:
Book One: Stiger’s Tiger
Book Two: The Tiger
Book Three: The Tiger’s Fate
Book Four: The Tiger’s Time
Tales of the Seventh:
Book One: Stiger
Book Two: Fort Covenant
Table of Contents
Author’s note:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Author’s note:
I hope you enjoy Fortress of Radiance and a sincere thank you for your purchase.
Best regards,
Marc Alan Edelheit, author and your tour guide to the worlds of Tannis and Istros
Prologue
Amarra’s feet bounced painfully along the paving stone as two soldiers, each gripping an arm, dragged her roughly from the temple. Their callused hands gripping her arms hurt.
The King waited, an enraged look upon his mustached face. He wore the midnight black robe that he used when he went amongst his people. A thin gold circlet rested upon his head, the sides of which disappeared into his long salt-and-pepper hair.
The soldiers released her at the foot of the King, then stepped back.
“Please,” Amarra begged, gripping the rich fabric of the King’s robe as she knelt in the street before him. A protective cordon of soldiers, backs to Amarra and the King, had formed into a half-moon around them. Their shields were presented outward toward the forming crowd, swords at the ready.
The crowd howled and screamed as they pressed against the shields. One soldier was shoved backward a step. Without hesitation, he lashed out with his sword. A scream was almost immediately followed by a body hitting the ground. The soldier stepped over the man he had just killed and resumed his position. The crowd quieted and nervously took a step back and away from the line of King’s Guard.
The King did not turn to look. Instead his gaze was focused over Amarra, back at the temple. Six men wearing the holy robes of the priesthood were dragged forth and forced to kneel just before the steps that led up into the temple. Behind each stood a soldier.
A rock flew from the crowd and landed near one of the priests with a crack as it impacted the paving stones. Amarra, glancing back, saw that the priest did not even flinch.
The King looked down his nose upon Amarra. She saw his cold and calculating eyes. She had seen such looks before, usually directed at others. Returning his gaze, Amarra shuddered in fear and for a moment questioned her choice. She only wavered, then bit her lip and offered up a silent prayer.
“Please don’t do this.” Her voice was as calm as she could manage. “They are your subjects too and have done nothing to you.”
“Done nothing to me?” her father hissed, anger coloring his cheeks. “How can you say that? How dare you make such a statement?”
“Please, they mean only to help, to serve.”
The King’s face hardened. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Hear me—”
“You have defiled yourself.” A look of disgust washed over his face. “And now you beg like a common supplicant? You are unworthy to share our family name. Your mother would be sickened if she could see you now.”
“Father.” She was not sure what she could say. The paving stone felt hard against her knees. If only he understood what was in her heart.
“You have betrayed me, and our house.”
“Never!” Amarra tugged on the robes. “I … I would never do that. I just believe, with all my heart and soul. Is that so wrong?”
“These filthy men have corrupted you,” her father said coldly, with a glance at the priests–turned-prisoners. “They have turned your heart from me, and for that they shall pay the ultimate price.”
“No, Father.” Tears stung her eyes. “Please don’t do this. I still love you.”
“Lies,” the King exploded. He kicked her hard in the chest. She fell backward, her head connecting painfully with the paving stone. Pulling herself to her hands and knees, she struggled to breathe. Her father kicked her roughly again, booted foot catching her painfully in the ribs. She collapsed, rolling onto her side.
He reached down to grab her long, dark hair by the base of her neck and dragged Amarra back to her knees. The King, his face mottled by rage, backhanded Amarra. White hot pain exploded from the point of contact. For a moment, she lost all sense. Her vision swam as he yanked her head back so she looked directly into his face.
Fear flooded Amarra’s being as he locked eyes with her. She gave an involuntary shudder.
“You ungrateful bitch. They have lied to you. Why are you unable to see that? I thought I raised you better than this, but it appears you are simply too stupid to understand that.” He spat into her face before pointing at the kneeling priests. “Their god is a lie.”
“No, he is not,” she said, tears of pain stinging her eyes. “I have felt him fill the dreadful emptiness inside me. You must listen to me. He has spoken to me. He shall save us all, and is sending aid.”
The King eyed her coldly for a moment and then reached down and wiped some of the spit off of her cheek. A shadow of tenderness passed over his face. Amarra thought she recognized a glimpse of her old father. But it was gone in a flash.
“It is all a lie,” he said again, “as are your protestation
s of love.”
She started to reply. He backhanded her again. The blow landed viciously upon her cheek. She felt a hot wetness on her neck and saw blood drip down her arm.
“For the sake of your dead mother,” the King hissed, “I shall give you one last chance. Recant, and I may even spare these vile men a death most foul.”
Amarra glanced over to the kneeling priests. One raised his head, just enough to make eye contact. Father Lohert’s eyes were filled with concern. He had spent long hours tutoring her in the faith. He was one of the kindest men she had ever known. The concern was not for himself, but for her. With a sickening feeling, she realized she had brought this misfortune upon them. The priest nodded ever so slightly, and then lowered his forehead back to the paving stone.
Amarra felt even more wretched, for she understood Father Lohert’s meaning. He had given her permission to recant. She could save herself.
Was it a lie, then? Her eyes flicked from the kneeling priests to her father and his towering rage. Her eyes traveled back to the priests and then to the great temple she had come to love visiting. Massive white marble columns ran completely around the building. The columns were impossibly thick and supported an arched roof high above. The building was grand, beautiful, and awe-inspiring, just as it should be, for this temple honored a god deserving of worship. It had never failed to lift her heart, until this very moment. Was it all a lie?
No, it could not be. She could not do it. She had given herself over to her god. It was not something she could undo. Amarra believed.
She closed her eyes for a moment and offered up a silent prayer. No matter what happened, she resolved to stand strong and true to not only herself, but to her god. She felt a sense of calm settle over her, almost as if a comforting arm had been placed around her shoulders.
Scripture abruptly came to mind, and the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.
“Despite evil men, let us hold to the hope, for she who promised is faithful.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
The sense of calm slipped from her, replaced by a deep, cold fear.
“When we leave this place,” he said, leaning down, “you, my dear, will be left behind, forgotten, just like this city will someday be.” He was so close she could feel the heat of his breath upon her neck.
Amarra stared back at him, appalled. She coughed, tasting copper. Bloody spittle ran down her chin and onto her soiled, torn dress.
“No.”
“Oh yes.” He pulled her closer and lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “You have committed a crime most foul and have joined with these evil men. You are no longer my daughter, but you are still of the blood. As such, you will be treated differently.”
He released her hair, and she fell back to her hands and knees. The King stood, gaze lingering upon the priests. He then looked back down on Amarra.
“I will not be cursed by the true gods for the killing of the fruit of my loin. You will not be killed by my hand, nor by one of my servants. I think it quite fitting, really. You will be left to rot, as your soul has. You will be locked up for eternity, wrapped only in your false faith for comfort.” A grim smile split his face. “I wonder if you will last long enough for the Horde to arrive? Perhaps I shall leave you sufficient food and permit them to deal with your faith.” He took a step from her, then glanced back. “Save us, will he? Let’s see your god save you.”
“No.” Tears spilled down her face. “You don’t understand. The—”
“Oh, but I do,” he said, and then turned to one of the officers of his guard. “Take her away and throw her into the Morning Cell.”
“Yes, my lord,” the officer said. He nodded to the two soldiers who had been standing just behind Amarra. Strong hands seized each arm and dragged her roughly to her feet. The crowd behind the cordon of soldiers roared their approval. She attempted to pull free, but one of the soldiers drove a fist into her stomach, forcing the air once again from her lungs. Amarra collapsed in their arms. She gagged for air as they started dragging her away.
Still struggling to breathe, Amarra turned her head to look back. Her eyes were upon the man who had raised her. As a little girl he had once been kindly to her, kissing the hurts and showering not only love but great affection upon her. This man had changed from the one she had known. Time, and the current trials and troubles of her people, had done that.
In the place of her father now stood the King of Carthum—a man of desperation, unimaginable terror, and cruelty.
Why had she not seen it before?
“Stake them out as a warning to other false clerics,” the King said to the same officer, gesturing toward the prostrated priests. “I want their deaths to be slow, and painful.”
Amarra’s heart cried out with the injustice. Her eyes were upon her father as she was dragged away, feet bouncing off of the ancient, uneven paving stones. She struggled once again to free herself, but it was no good. The hands upon her arms were not only bruising, but just too strong. The last thing she heard before being pulled into the enraged crowd was her father issuing a further order.
“Bring this vile monument to a false god down.”
Chapter One
The Present
Karus glanced over as Amarra gave a gasp and started awake, a sheen of sweat on her brow. It was as if she had awoken from a nightmare. She had dozed off on the reclining couch he had moved into his office. She blinked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Amarra stretched, arching her back. She ran a hand through her long, black hair before looking over at him. She flashed him an uneasy smile and then glanced away.
“Bad dream?” Karus asked in Common, setting down the silver stylus on the ornate wooden desk. Along with it, he slid aside the wax tablet he had been making notes on and leaned back on the stool, deciding he was done with work for the moment.
Amarra looked over at him and chewed her lip.
“Tell me,” Karus said again.
“It is nothing,” Amarra said, standing. She went to the balcony and looked down on the overgrown gardens behind the palace. Her face was flushed, and she wrung her hands. Karus stood up, pushing the stool out of the way with the back of his sandaled foot. He walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She glanced over at him, then returned her gaze outward. He followed her eyes down into the gardens.
Two dragons, one dark green and the other a deep red, lay next to one another, so close that they almost touched. The green dragon, Kordem, was curled up, his head tucked beneath a wing. The other, Cyln’phax, lay on her side, her long neck stretched out and her head bent around and nearly upside down. An eye opened and studied them for a lazy moment before closing.
Both dragons were huge, perhaps more than a hundred fifty feet from head to tail. He shook his head at the incredible creatures just below. The dragons were covered with thick, armored scales and large spikes that ran down their backs. Even their stomachs were covered in scales that looked tougher than plate armor. The scales reflected the sunlight with an almost metallic quality.
The two dragons were not only beautiful, but fearsome. Besides rows of long, sharp, serrated teeth, each foot held claws that were longer than a man had a right to be tall. They looked incredibly strong, and that did not include their ability to breathe fire, which Karus had witnessed firsthand just a few days before when Cyln’phax had attacked the creature of evil in the High Father’s temple.
The early morning sun shone downward onto the garden. Like some of the reptiles Karus had seen over the years, the dragons appeared to be enjoying the warmth of the sun. Cyln’phax flexed a foot, razor-sharp claws digging into one of the paved stone paths that snaked its way through the garden. The dragon flexed a second time, and the paving stone gave an audible crack, snapping in two before the claws dug up large furrows in the dirt underneath.
Karus spared a glance over at Amarra. It had been five days since they’d emerged from the ruins of the High Father’s temple with the spe
ar and the Key that Jupiter had given them. She had not left his side for much of those five days.
Karus had never seen anyone like Amarra, with her exotic olive complexion and almond-shaped eyes. Amarra still wore the long white dress she had been wearing when she emerged from the High Father’s temple. She had gone in wearing a servant’s dress and come out with something that never seemed to wrinkle or become dirty or stained. He wondered how she did it. Was the dress somehow special? She had a natural elegance about her, but in that dress she looked royal. It amazed Karus that she wanted to be with him, a rough old soldier.
Amarra was stunningly beautiful, so much so that standing this close to her got his heart beating a little faster, dragons or not. He had faced enemy in battle who did not unsettle him as much as she did. Karus felt a fierce desire to protect her and keep her safe. The truth was that he knew, with what was headed their way, they were all far from safe.
“What is it?” Karus asked her in Common, for it was clear to him Amarra was troubled.
“It is nothing,” Amarra said, twisting a strand of hair.
“I don’t think so,” Karus said, drumming his fingers on the cold stone of the railing as he turned to her. “Tell me.”
“Father.” Amarra pointed out into the distance in a vague sort of way. “He is out there, somewhere.”
“The High Father?” Karus asked. “Jupiter?”
“No, no,” Amarra said, biting her lip, then holding out her arms wide. “High Father is around us, yes?” She touched her heart with her palm. “Inside, too. This is not what I mean.”
“I do not understand,” Karus said, switching to Latin, considering that he had perhaps misunderstood her. She spoke better Latin than he did Common.
“My father.” Amarra touched her chest. She held up her right wrist. She touched the damaged skin on her wrist where she had been fettered. The wounds were still fresh and healing. She would be scarred for life, and Karus was certain that went beyond the physical. They had found her chained in a prison cell beneath the palace Karus had claimed for his headquarters.
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