Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn Read online

  THE LIGHT OF

  EPERTASE

  LEGENDS REBORN

  BOOK ONE

  DOUGLAS R. BROWN

  Rhemalda Publishing

  Rhemalda Publishing

  Rhemalda Publishing, Inc. (USA)

  P.O. Box 2912, Wenatchee, WA 98807, USA

  http://www.rhemalda.com

  First American Paperback Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Copyright ©2011 by Douglas R. Brown

  Editing by Kara Klotz

  Text design by Rhemalda Publishing

  Cover art and author photo by Steve Murphy. Contact Steve by email at [email protected] or visit his Web site and Facebook page at www.stevemurphyartist.com and www.facebook.com/stevemurphy.fineartist3

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-936850-10-5

  ePUB ISBN: 978-1-936850-11-2

  ePDF ISBN: 978-1-936850-12-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011920940

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standards of Information Services - Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ASNI Z39.48-1992.

  Visit Douglas R. Brown at his author Web site www.epertase.com.

  DEDICATION

  To my son, Aiden: You are my life.

  You make me proud at every turn and I am

  the happiest father in the world because you are here.

  I love you, little guy.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The act of writing a book is an intensely personal experience between the author and his or her story. That is not to say that writing a book is a one-person job. Many people must come together for a book to be presented to the masses and I would like to thank a few of those people here.

  I could not have accomplished this dream without the support of my beautiful wife. To Angela: For your encouragement and patience while I peck away at my computer, I thank you. Even if I were to become the most elegant, majestic, and successful author in the history of man, I would be unable to find enough words to express my love for you in a way that would do it justice.

  To all of my proofreaders: I do not envy your task, as reading my drivel in various stages of completion must be excruciatingly painful. But I understand as it is painful for me and I’m the sap who wrote it.

  Every successful author has a company behind them and I would like to thank Rhett, Emmaline, Kara and the entire Rhemalda staff for taking a chance on me. I am determined to make your risk worthwhile.

  When I began writing several years ago, I was an amateur in every sense of the word. To my aunt, Bobbe Ecleberry: I cannot thank you enough for your undying support and for helping me learn my craft then and now.

  To Breanne Braddy: You were like a lantern in this publishing cave of darkness. You are unselfish in your knowledge and gifted in your talent. I feel fortunate to consider you a friend and have no doubt J.S. Chancellor will be a household name. And I’m sorry, but she’ll never be Ripley again.

  Also, thank you to the following people for their help and support: My mother, Lillian Dove, for your unwavering support and being a wonderful mother. The Amazing Mattman McNemar, whose creativity and talent I aspire to approach. The Columbus, Ohio, Division of Fire for giving me a continuing wonderful career. Everyone at Smokin’ Station 22 except for John (just kidding, John). Brett Shearer, for being the muscles on the cover. My fantastic cover artist Steve Murphy, who is as talented as anyone I have ever met and who gets it in every sense of the word. Mick Cecil, Jeff Stanforth, Mike and Betty Donahoe, Cory and Aimee Knight, Bryan and Kara Young, Alex Sundberg, my cousin, Greg Ecleberry, Sean and Helena Wooten, my grandmother, Lona Davis, and all of my family and friends. For those who have inspired my character names, I thank you as well.

  And last but certainly not least, I’d like to thank everyone who buys this book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Wait until you see what I have planned for Rasi and Epertase in book two.

  CHAPTER 1

  FALL OF A WARRIOR

  The year was Matthew 1012.

  Rasi sat on the edge of his bed with his palms pressed against his temples. He told himself to be strong, if not for his own sanity, but for his wife and coming child. He glanced at his sword as it hung innocently on the farthest wall and, though he knew the blade was clean within its sheath, he saw only the dark blood of men he had slaughtered still dripping from its edge. He vowed he would never again allow his talent for war to be exploited.

  As with each night since the war with the heathens had ended, images of the dead and dying crept into his thoughts. Most nights he was able to push those visions away, but this night was different. He sat on his bed, moments from shedding the pent-up tears he had kept painstakingly hidden from his wife, Edonea. He did what was needed for Epertase’s survival, he told himself, but that didn’t bring him peace. Now it was up to the gods to determine if he was on the side of the righteous or the side of devils and he prayed that either way they would forgive him even as he could never forgive himself.

  The clanging from the kitchen as Edonea finished the dinner dishes assured him of at least a few more moments alone to gather his emotions, though he feared this night he would be unable to right himself in time. As each vision of Edonea’s smile in his mind guided him back from the hell of his memories, his thoughts uncontrollably returned to the mutilated bodies that sprawled across the many battlefields of his past.

  He sucked in a lung-filling breath, the aroma of his wife’s sweet apple dessert still lingering in the air, before exhaling with a cleansing sigh.

  “Rasi?” she shouted from the other room.

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” he shouted back.

  Beside his bed set a washbowl of day-old water and he splashed the chilliness onto his face. Edonea appeared at the doorway. He turned away to hide his sadness, but she knew him too well.

  “What is it, Rasi?”

  He wiped his forearm across his eyes. “It is nothing.”

  The heaviness of her eyes let him know she wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “Maybe you should stay home tonight,” she whispered as she sat on the bed next to him.

  Nothing would make him happier than to do just that, but the choice was not his. He turned toward her and, with a sad grin, brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. “You know that I must go. Prince Elijah has required my attendance, as he has everyone in his squad. This is a big event for the royal family. My absence would be highly noticed.”

  “What good is a furlough if your time is not actually yours?”

  “Attendance is a sign of respect.”

  “Well, it is silly. Why our future king needs to prove himself in battle and rise through the military ranks like a common soldier, I’ll never understand.”

  “Tradition.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  He stared at her for a moment, weighing whether her words were naively genuine or simply spoken for comfort. He
answered, “You do not see wisdom in a leader who may one day be forced to send men to their deaths experiencing war firsthand?”

  Her face wore the same expression she’d have whenever she ran out of words to argue. “I suppose,” she said. He knew it pained her to acknowledge that he was right and he chuckled.

  He rose to his feet. “I will be home before the moon disappears in the north,” he said before gently kissing her forehead. He leaned down to her distended belly and whispered, “You protect your mother while I am gone.”

  She said goodbye and waved as he left through the front door.

  Rasi’s fellow soldier and best friend Terik met him at the edge of his property. “Where is Edonea?” he asked.

  Rasi lied, “The pregnancy has her ill this evening. Besides, I do not imagine much entertainment in listening to our war stories ’til the wee hours.” He paused for a moment. “And Celia?”

  “She wouldn’t be caught dead at a military function.”

  As the two men walked, Terik nudged Rasi’s side with his elbow. “By the way, are we celebrating something else tonight as well?”

  Rasi lowered his brow, not sure of where Terik’s words were leading.

  “Come clean, Rasi. Or should I say Captain Rasi?”

  “Oh.” Rasi shook his head.

  “You’ve been offered the position, have you not?”

  Rasi hadn’t the heart to tell his friend his plans to leave the service. “You know I’m more comfortable fighting with the men than I am leading them.”

  “Think of the money. You’re starting a family.”

  Rasi stopped and turned to his friend. His smile was gone. “If a man chooses to lead and his reason is money, he is not a man who should be followed.”

  “I’ll never understand you, Rasi. You’re the only one who doesn’t believe that we would be better with you at the helm.”

  The two men made the short walk along the castle walls to the main gate. They found their names near the top of the guest list and proceeded to the Royal Gardens. Several of their old squad mates huddled near the southern perimeter wall and Rasi and Terik made their way to their sides.

  Wolf, always the instigator, leaned into Rasi’s ear. “You know you will be captain now, don’t you?” He paused to let his words soak in. Rasi didn’t answer, prompting more of Terik’s convincing. “With Elijah’s promotion, you are next in line for his spot.”

  Rasi peered up from his drink.

  “The squad follows you,” Wolf said, fishing for any hint as to where Rasi stood on the matter.

  Rasi bit his lower lip before answering, “I am no leader.”

  Terik smirked. “I told you, Rasi. Everyone knows it. You are destined for leadership. You allow your lack of confidence to betray you.”

  Rasi had said all he cared to say on the subject and stood silent until the others finished their badgering and moved on to more interesting topics.

  The men sunk neck-deep into stories of battle and heroic deeds, exaggerated, no doubt, while Rasi quietly listened.

  Terik excused himself for more of King Cecil’s famous ale. He returned with two mugs, his half-empty. “For you, Ras.” He held out the mug but Rasi rebuffed his offer with a wave.

  “You make it awful hard to be a friend, Ras. You rarely talk, you don’t drink, and you are ugly as sin.” He smiled, proud of his own joke. Rasi shook his head with a grin.

  It wasn’t long before the group of men caught the guest of honor’s eye, and Prince Elijah, with his closest advisor, Tevin the Third, on his heels, approached the group.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for attending,” the Prince said.

  One by one, the soldiers offered their hands in congratulations. Elijah arrived at Rasi’s outstretched hand, looked at it for a moment, then turned to the other soldiers and asked, “Are you having a good time?”

  They answered that they were.

  Wolf said, “Turning thirty next week and already head of the Elite guard. Pretty impressive, I must say. How old was your father when he was promoted?”

  Elijah smiled. “Thirty-seven, Wolf. But he did not have an opportunity to show his worth in battle as I have had.”

  A little girl tugged on Elijah’s robe from behind. “Daddy?” she said.

  He turned toward her and knelt. “Alina, my girl, this is no place for a future queen to be hanging around. Where are your grandparents?”

  “They said I could come out and say goodnight to you.”

  “Well I am glad you did, butterfly. Meet some of my men.”

  She peered at the rough-looking soldiers with the brightest green eyes Rasi had ever seen. She extended her hand to the soldier closest to her. “Pleased to meet you, sir, I am Princess Alina.” She spoke with regal confidence and pride, or at least as regal as one could sound at nine years old.

  The soldier cupped her palm and kissed her delicate hand. “Nice to meet you. I am Czar, son to Altec.”

  “What happened to your head?” she asked.

  “Alina,” her father said. “That is not polite.”

  “With all due respect, sir, it is quite alright.” Czar knelt so she could have a better view of the entire scar that stretched from his crown to his brow. “That is a scar from battle, young lady, from protecting your kingdom.” He poked her belly and she giggled.

  She continued around the circle, greeting each soldier. Rasi turned away, hoping she would pass him without notice. But she didn’t.

  “And you are?” her voice was as soft as a dove’s breath.

  He took her by her outstretched hand and knelt before her, his eyes to the ground. “I am Ra …”

  Elijah interrupted, grabbing her frail arm. “Come on, my dear. He is not worth your time.” He led her away as she stared over her shoulder. Rasi turned away from her gaze.

  Terik leaned into his ear again. “I think he fears your strength, my friend. You should remedy that if you are able.”

  Rasi sighed. “Maybe I’ll set up a meeting first thing tomorrow.”

  “That would probably be wise.”

  CHAPTER 2

  BETRAYAL

  Most of Elijah’s guests had made their departures by the time night was closer to dawn than the previous dusk. Sporadic groups of soldiers sat in circles weaving tales of their adventures, no doubt exaggerated by the alcohol in their veins. In the darker corners of the Royal Garden, men engaged the thinning group of eligible maidens in drunken attempts to continue their evening in more intimate surroundings.

  Rasi listened to his friends, all the while searching for his chance of escape. He could no longer enjoy the conversation as he was consumed with thoughts of his angry wife waiting by their front door.

  After what seemed like an eternity of incessant yapping, Rasi interrupted yet another of Wolf’s winded stories. “Morning will be here soon,” he said, silencing the group. “Best make my departure else my welcome home not be kind.”

  The soldiers offered understanding nods and outstretched their hands in goodbye.

  Rasi made like a ghost across the courtyard, stepping over mounds of unconscious soldiers along the way. After a peek over his shoulders, he pried rose bushes away from the dark edge of the castle wall and slipped behind them. The thorns left irritating scratches on his arms, but it was worth the time he would save.

  Few knew of the shortcut he was about to take and he hoped to keep it that way. He didn’t think his secret would be exposed considering the state of the remaining revelers.

  The passageway took him into a black-as-night, abandoned alleyway that ran along the back of the castle. He closed his eyes to trick his mind into believing the passageway wasn’t as dark as it actually was.

  Just head west and follow the wall, he coached himself, remembering his extensive studying of ancient maps as a soldier. If they were still accurate, in daylight his travel would be quick. By feel in the darkness, not so much. He soon realized the poor choice he had made.

  Edonea would not be pleased. He glided his ha
nd along the curving stone wall while taking step by stuttered step. As he rounded a turn, some type of commotion up ahead halted his progress. He froze.

  Distant mumbles and dancing torches filled the darkness. He wondered how many people knew of his shortcut after all and stood still in hopes that the hooligans would soon make themselves scarce. The dancing torches and excited volume of their laughter left little doubt of their drunken mischief and Rasi figured not being seen was his best approach.

  He thought about Edonea and her angry wait, which had become longer and probably angrier.

  As he waited, he dug at the irritation on his arm from the rosebush thorns. He pinched the butt of an impaled thorn between his fingernails and yanked the bristle free, along with more hair than he had intended. He rubbed his other arm until he came to another thorn and dug at that one as well.

  The longer he waited, the more his frustration set in. How long can grown men possible play in the dark? he wondered.

  Soon the laughter faded, replaced by angry shouts. Something wooden crashed against the wall and the game ahead no longer sounded fun.

  A man shouted, “Shut up, whore.”

  Rasi stopped digging at his arm to lurch toward the commotion. A woman whimpered, muffled as though a hand or a gag was plastered over her mouth.

  Rasi edged furtively closer, as his military training had taught him. When he heard flesh smack against flesh, he began to jog, discarding stealth altogether.

  A young woman’s, “please … don’t,” transformed his jog into a blind sprint.

  A different, somewhat deeper voice shouted that someone was coming, but Rasi no longer cared.

  As he closed in, their torches revealed their numbers – six – but little else.

  “Over there!” a disguised, yet somehow familiar voice said.

  One of the shadows bounced toward Rasi. Its bearer shouted, “Who goes ther …” but Rasi slammed into him, sending the air grunting from the stranger’s lungs before he could finish his query.