Fulcrum of Light ©2018-2020 CJ AARON This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors. Aethon Books supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. 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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
