Fortress of Radiance

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Amarra blinked, shifting the grip upon her staff.

  “You have already been blessed,” Amarra said, puzzlement plain as she gazed down on Si’Cara.

  “I know. Still,” Si’Cara said, “it has been many years since I’ve been properly blessed by one of the cloth. Before we continue on into the fortress, bless me, mistress. I beg you, please.”

  Amarra hesitated a long moment before reaching out a hand toward the top of the elf’s head. She paused, appearing uncertain. Karus saw her hand tremble ever so slightly. Then she placed her palm upon Si’Cara’s head and closed her eyes.

  “Bless this splendid soul, for her faith is strong and true,” Amarra said. Her staff pulsed brilliantly once and then returned to the dull, sullen glow. Amarra removed her hand.

  Si’Cara looked up, blinking rapidly.

  “Rise, daughter of the faith.” Amarra helped Si’Cara to her feet.

  “Thank you, mistress,” Si’Cara said reverently. “If it is acceptable, I shall honor the High Father and his many blessings with my service to you.”

  “I only ask that you do what you feel is right,” Amarra said.

  “It is right to serve,” Si’Cara said.

  Amarra said nothing for several heartbeats. Karus knew something extraordinary and significant was happening. The grin had slipped from Tal’Thor’s face, which only confirmed his suspicion. The ranger gave a slight scowl. It vanished in an instant.

  Karus glanced over at Dennig, who appeared thoroughly fascinated by what was occurring. The dwarf caught his look and shot him a wink.

  “When it no longer does,” Amarra said finally, “or you feel called to do something else, you are free to go, released from my service.”

  “As you wish, mistress,” Si’Cara said.

  “An elven ranger swearing service to a human,” Dennig said quietly so that only Karus could hear. “That is something I never thought to see. Your lady is very fortunate.”

  Karus spared the dwarf a look as Amarra stepped over to him.

  “Shall we go on?” Amarra asked calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

  Karus gave a nod and turned toward the gate. Moving closer, he no longer felt the chill on the air. It was warm, almost hot. Whatever curse had lain upon the ground leading up to the gate had thoroughly and completely gone. The others followed after him, carefully moving around and between the skeletal warriors forever locked in place and death.

  Karus stood before the gate and reached out a tentative hand, hesitant to touch it. Then, gathering his determination, he put his hand upon the rough wood of the gate. Nothing happened. Relieved, he pushed and felt a slight movement. The gate was not locked, but the hinges seemed fixed in place, most likely by rust. He had been concerned they would have to climb the crumbling walls.

  “Help me,” Karus said to Tal’Thor and Dennig.

  Both moved forward and together they pushed on the left gate, throwing their shoulders into it. With the hinges screaming and groaning in protest, the gate surprisingly swung slowly inward. They were able to move the gate halfway open before it locked in place, giving no more. Something in the hinge mechanism had frozen out any further movement.

  Karus stood back. Before them lay an overgrown courtyard or, as some would call it, a bailey. It seemed as if a small forest had grown up within the fortress. Ivy climbed the inside walls and some of the smaller stone buildings, too. Karus wondered what horrors and dangers lay within, just waiting to be discovered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Gods, what a mess.” Dennig spat on the ground. “No one’s been in here for years.”

  A hand still on the rough-worn wood of the gate, Karus had to agree. The fortress appeared to be no more than an ancient, crumbling ruin. His eyes swept the overgrown interior, scanning, searching, committing it all to memory.

  The fortress’s courtyard was choked with vegetation. Long grass, ivy, brush, and even trees had sprung up within the walls. Oddly, the trees were nothing like the giants at the base of the hill. They were a different variety altogether, some sort of a pine. The needles were long and thin and had a greenish blue color that Karus had never seen before on a tree. Combined with the ruins, it was all otherworldly. Karus hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but this wasn’t it.

  His eyes went to the nearest of the crumbling buildings. It was a good-sized rectangular structure, thirty yards in length and twenty deep. The ivy was so thick, it almost completely obscured the walls of the building. It was as if the Terra Mater, the earth mother, had reached forth her green tentacles to drag the building down into the depths for the sin of its construction.

  There was no telling how long the fortress had been abandoned, but it certainly seemed like it had been a very long time. Nature was slowly working to reclaim what had been taken from it. Ivy seemed everywhere. It climbed up all of the buildings and walls, snaking through and over the brush. The only place it wasn’t visible was on the pine trees. For some reason the ivy seemed to avoid them. Karus idly wondered why.

  “The fortress was in better condition when I was here last,” Si’Cara said.

  “Long ago, then,” Dennig said, irony lacing his tone. “Though well-constructed, this place is falling apart. Another fifty years and none of these buildings will be standing—well, maybe some of the outer walls and parts of the keep, but you know what I mean. I’d almost say this fortress was made by my people.”

  Taking in the ruin of the fortress, Karus rubbed the back of his neck. Nothing, it seemed, was ever easy. Then again, he knew from experience nothing done right was ever easy. He had expected more difficulty, but nothing like what was laid out before him. He looked over at Amarra and let go a breath he had been holding.

  “It might take longer to find the sword than I anticipated,” Karus said, putting his thoughts to voice. Gazing upon the wild overgrowth and the near-ruin of the fortress, he wondered how long it would take to locate the sword. That was, if they could find it, and the if was a becoming a serious question in his mind.

  All of the buildings he could see had lost their roofs, and several of the smaller outbuildings had collapsed in upon themselves. Was the sword buried under piles of decaying debris? Would he need to dig it out? If so, he thought it slightly ironic that he had not thought to bring a shovel. There was really no telling how long it would take to find Rarokan.

  “The High Father said the sword is here,” Amarra said in a tone that spoke of surety, “and it will be. Trust in our god. We need to find it, no matter how long that takes.”

  “Right.” Karus looked over at Si’Cara. “You’ve been here before. Tell me what I’m looking at.”

  “That central building is obviously the keep,” Si’Cara said. She pointed off to the left. “That two-story rectangular building is the guardhouse and armory. On the second floor is a place for the guards to sleep. That is where the Anagradoom had planned to live, or so I was led to understand from my brother.” Si’Cara swung her hand, pointing out an overgrown mound. “The collapsed building just next to it was the fortress’s storehouse. If I recall, it has a large cellar that doubles as a cold house for storage.” She pointed at another collapsed building, no more than a mound of stones covered with plants and ivy. “That smaller structure beyond it was a root cellar. The keep also has an underground space, though I have never seen it.”

  “And that large building off to the right?” Karus gestured at the two-story structure that was also rectangular, but twice the size of the guardhouse and with large barn-like doors. One door, half rotted away, barely remained attached to some of its hinges and hung at an odd angle. The other had long since fallen off and was nearly hidden from view by the wild vegetation.

  The building Karus indicated appeared to be some sort of a stable. Since he’d seen no horses on this world, he figured it might have at one time been meant to house animals should the fortress come under siege. The roof of the building had fallen in as well.

  “That big one
there,” Karus said, “what is it?”

  “That was the prison,” Si’Cara said.

  “A prison?” Amarra asked, looking at the building more closely. Her lips formed a line. She cleared her throat. “Here? This place was once a prison?”

  “Yes,” Tal’Thor said, “the Fortress of Radiance for centuries was a prison. It was both a place of despair and rebirth.”

  “As you know, our people are long-lived,” Si’Cara said. “Imprisonment within walls of stone is the worst imaginable punishment for an elf. Even death is not feared as much. Stone is so unfeeling, cold, and lifeless. It drains from their beings the passions and impulses that caused them to violate our laws, customs, and teachings. The criminals held within these walls were locked away for a very long time. The loss of one’s freedom and ability to wander and explore the mysteries of life is a cruel thing, almost enough to drive one mad.” She paused. “It was in this isolated place where the guilty were meant and expected to rediscover the radiance of their soul and reform their ways. The isolation and confinement was but one part of that process.”

  “Are you serious?” Dennig scoffed. “I’ve seen the inside of your prisons, and let me tell you, I don’t know how one could rediscover themselves, let alone feel good about it at the end. All I got out of the experience was bitterness. Like me, I suspect all they found in this place was despair. No one truly reforms, no matter how long they are locked away. Prison only changes a person, and not always for the good.”

  “The prisons for our people,” Si’Cara said, “are very different than those intended for outsiders. They are more comfortable.”

  Dennig gave a disbelieving grunt.

  “Regardless of how you feel, dwarf, our prisons are meant to reform, correct undesirable or abnormal behaviors, and educate,” Tal’Thor said. “Such a process begins with isolation. The Fortress of Radiance gave those confined within an opportunity to meditate, to contemplate their life, their choices, and to learn from their mistakes.” Tal’Thor paused and swept his gaze around the interior of the fortress. “At least, our prisons used to be meant for reform. Things have changed.”

  “What do you mean, used to be?” Karus asked. “How are they different?”

  “Around the time this fortress was set aside for the sword, the warden altered how we punished our criminals,” Tal’Thor said with a slight scowl, his eyes darting briefly toward Si’Cara before returning to the prison. “We lost something when we gave up such places. Now, our punishments are intolerant, harsh, and absolute, with no thought to reform.”

  It wasn’t hard to guess what the main punishment had become. The warden certainly did not seem like a kind and forgiving person.

  “How did the fortress become the place to guard the sword?” Amarra asked. “Did the warden choose it?”

  “No,” Si’Cara said. “The High Master of Obsidian is a law unto himself. He made that decision. He stands above the warden, who was far from happy with his choice. There was something about the Fortress of Radiance he felt made it ideal.”

  “Wizards!” Dennig said. “They are without legend and nothing but trouble.”

  “You met the Master of Obsidian, En’Sis’Lith,” Si’Cara said. “The High Master is the leader of En’Sis’Lith’s order. We do not know much about him, other than he travels the worlds at will and is actively engaged in the war of the gods, the Last War.”

  “I am aware of him visiting Tannis only once, and when he did, he brought Rarokan with him,” Tal’Thor said. “He was the one who placed it within the fortress, selected the Anagradoom as its guardians, and then left. He has not returned, at least that we know.”

  “How long ago was that?” Karus asked, noticing Dennig paying close attention to all that was said.

  “At least a thousand years,” Tal’Thor said, “give or take a hundred. At the time, I paid little attention to the event. I had no idea my destiny would be linked to that fateful visit.”

  Dennig whistled. “That’s even a long time for my people.”

  “For us also,” Si’Cara said, turning her gaze back to the interior of the fortress. “Long years indeed.”

  “Do you know where the sword would’ve been kept?” Karus turned his gaze back to the fortress.

  “In the keep,” Si’Cara said without hesitation. “That would be the most secure place within the fortress. It will have been placed there, if anywhere.”

  “Are you certain?” Karus asked hopefully, for the keep looked like the most intact building of the lot. He might not have to dig through the rubble of ages after all.

  “I was not here when the sword was brought to the fortress,” Si’Cara said. “Before my brother led the Anagradoom here, he told me that is where it would go.”

  Karus turned his gaze upon the keep. It was at least four stories high. Ivy ran from the base right up to the top. There were few windows, and those that he could make out were partially hidden behind the ivy. Through the trees, brush, and ivy, he spotted what appeared to be a stout wooden door. From what he could see of it, the door was intact. Karus wondered if it would open as easily as the main gate.

  “Maybe you can help me understand something.” Karus ran his hand over the rough wood of the gate, lightly feeling its age-worn texture. “This place looks long-deserted. If the sword was placed here over a thousand years ago, how is it that this wood”—he rapped on the wood with his knuckles—“still survives? A legionary has to work daily to keep the rust off of his armor. A few days of inattention and you’ve got rust, and loads of it too. Why did this gate not just rot away, the hinges rusting to nothing?”

  There was a moment of silence at that. Tal’Thor and Si’Cara exchanged a look. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them.

  “This place is special,” Si’Cara said. “Long before we came and settled these lands, there was magic at the fortress. It is possible some of the enchantments or protections long ago placed upon the gates and these walls linger yet.”

  Karus removed his hand from the gate, as if it might bite him. He had felt nothing out of the ordinary, other than coarse weather-aged and worn wood.

  “We know the High Master left his own enchantments,” Tal’Thor added. “There is really no way to tell what was done and why.”

  “If we knew more,” Si’Cara said, “we would tell you.”

  “I would expect so,” Karus said.

  “After what happened with the warden, there are few secrets we feel compelled to keep,” Tal’Thor added.

  “These warriors of yours,” Dennig said, “they were expected to maintain the fortress?”

  “Yes,” Tal’Thor said. “Part of their responsibility would surely be to perform repairs and keep it in a fit state.”

  “Then it is also possible,” Dennig said thoughtfully, “they could have been doing that up until recently. Maybe at some point in the near past, something caused them to stop their work.”

  “That is also a possibility,” Tal’Thor said.

  Karus felt Dennig had made a very good point. There was simply no telling what had happened here.

  “Before we go in,” Dennig said, with a meaningful look thrown to Amarra, “maybe the High Priestess could tell us if she senses evil about, particularly in there.”

  All eyes turned to Amarra. She gave the tiniest of nods, then closed her eyes. She breathed slowly in and then out for what seemed like a long time. They waited. Karus found himself holding his breath. Feeling foolish, he released it. Instead, Karus began to count. When he reached thirty-two, Amarra opened her eyes, blinking.

  “What I feel out there”—Amarra gestured with her staff toward the courtyard—“is not welcoming.”

  “I had hoped for a little more than that,” Dennig said grumpily.

  “There is something pushing back,” Amarra said. “I don’t know what it is, but the push seems to slacken when I think of the High Father. I don’t feel anything waiting, no evil at hand, if that is what you mean. What I sense is hard to describ
e. I think it is meant to keep others out, or perhaps it is a warning to stay away. But it is also fading, becoming less strong, even as we stand here and speak.”

  “Might as well get this over with.” Karus, intent upon setting the example, started forward, but felt a restraining hand upon his shoulder. He looked over at Tal’Thor in question.

  “If you do not mind, we shall lead,” Tal’Thor said. “This has long been a place for elves. It is fitting we should go first. Should the Warriors of Anagradoom be inside, waiting on intruders, they may hesitate should they see elves leading and perhaps seek answers before attacking.”

  “Fine,” Karus said, thinking that Tal’Thor was making a lot of sense. He stepped aside.

  “I think it wise to check each building before venturing into the keep,” Tal’Thor said. “I want to make sure we clear them first. Are you agreeable?”

  “That works.” Karus thought this suggestion also made sense, but he seriously doubted anyone living remained within the fortress. It was abandoned as could be. He wondered if the same fate that befell the skeletal warriors had also affected the Anagradoom.

  Tal’Thor and Si’Cara started forward into the courtyard. They moved slowly, carefully working their way through the thick brush and undergrowth with a practiced ease Karus could only envy. The two rangers seemed almost to glide through the greenery, barely disturbing it with their passage and making hardly a sound.

  “Stay behind me,” Karus said to Amarra, for if they were attacked, she was not trained to fight, and he wanted no harm to come to her.

  “I will be right behind you, fearless leader.” Dennig smirked at him.

  Ignoring Dennig, Karus stepped through the gate, entering the fortress. He felt as if he were crossing some unknown line in the sand—a line from which there was no return. Karus forced such thoughts away.

  Unlike the elves, Karus, Dennig, and Amarra made plenty of noise as they moved farther into the courtyard. Each footfall sounded like an army trooping wildly through a forest. The rangers moved steadily deeper into the courtyard, pausing every few steps to listen and look. They began angling their way toward the guardhouse, which was the nearest building. No one said anything, not a single word. It was as if they were concerned that they might be overheard and give themselves away. Karus was certain there were dangers about. He just didn’t know what they were yet. Until he did, caution would be the rule of the day.