Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) C.J. Aaron (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

Fulcrum of Light

©2018-2020 CJ AARON

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Contents

ALSO IN SERIES

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Epilogue

FROM THE PUBLISHER

ALSO IN SERIES

About the Author

ALSO IN SERIES

A TRIBUTE AT THE GATES

FULCRUM OF LIGHT

GHOSTS OF THE ERYLN

Chapter 1

Ryl cursed as the jagged thorns of the small, withered bush bit into his pants. The needle of the plant traced a thin red line across his leg. If not for his toughened skin, courtesy of the Erlyn’s gift, he'd have been leaking blood from multiple locations on both his arms and legs. His pants and exposed shirt were shredding into tatters.

His phrenic cloak, an heirloom from a time long erased from the learned history of Damaris, had so far proved impervious to the sharp points. He heard a curse coming from a few paces ahead, followed by the metallic ring of sharpened steel cutting through the thorny branches. Andr wasn't faring much better against the painful landscape.

“We have to find an easier way through these,” the mercenary called back over his shoulder. “Let's make for that ridge, we’ll get a better view from there.”

The older guard, his only companion, pointed to a narrow, elevated ridge in the distance, northwest of their current location.

“I'll follow you,” Ryl responded, kicking his leg to detach the thorn attempting to hold him back.

Ryl had little knowledge of where they were going. Fate had delivered them to an uncharted starting point. They’d set sail, parting from their companions at sea before the frigate was intentionally scuttled. Running from the gale that powered their sails, they ventured out under the cover of darkness and ruse of their own deaths as they sought to elude the warship that shadowed their host. The fury of the vicious storm had ravaged their small skiff, depositing them on a small strip of sandy beach bordering the vast, desolate expanse of the Outlands. Their destination was unknown. Nothing more than a cryptic hint.

The unmapped terrain of the Outlands encompassed the land west of the Kingdom of Damaris. The western palisade of The Stocks denoted the walled end to the reach of human civilization. As recorded history had taught, the Outlands had spawned the greatest threat the world had ever seen.

The deformed, blackened monsters of the Outland Horde had appeared without warning over thirteen hundred cycles in the past. Their numbers were exaggerated to be vast enough to blanket the entire Kingdom.

If not for the actions of legendary Taben and his scant army, the Horde would have swept across the land leaving a wake of murder and destruction unlike nothing the world had ever witnessed. The unmatched skills of Taben and his warriors had turned the tide, providing a dramatic victory over the murderous Horde. Following the short, yet decisive campaign, the scattered remains of the enemy melted back into the Outlands.

Though the victory was definitive, it marked the new border of human civilization and halted all expansion westward. The western palisade was constructed with haste in an effort to prevent another incursion. Aside from rare expeditions by foolhardy adventurers, the area beyond the palisades had been abandoned.

To venture into its midst was to tempt death.

Ryl and Andr now trudged slowly onward, lost in the realm of the unknown.

The storm that had battered their small boat, nearly costing them their lives, had robbed them of the bulk of their carefully planned supplies. The gale deposited the pair somewhere far south and west of Cadsae Proper and The Stocks. Though they could see the outline of the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains far off in the distance, there were no other discernible landmarks.

Aside from the clothes they wore and the small packs they carried, their list of supplies was sparse.

Each had a water skin.

Ryl carried his treasured and ancient magical weapons, The Leaves, and his crude splint.

Andr had a single long sword.

The anger of the sea had swallowed all of their rationed food, extra water, spare clothing and bed rolls. Their two bows, quivers of arrows, and the spare sword for Ryl had disappeared beneath the waves. The treatments that would have staved off the inevitable sickness that loomed over tributes