The Harsh Suns

By Jason E. Thummel

Five years as an enslaved conscript in a power-mad ruler's unending conquests had turned Khalidoc Va Navreen into a skilled warrior. But it was an act of religious persecution and the disappearance of his sister that turned him a cold-blooded killer.

The Harsh Suns is a novella length collection of Heroic Fiction bringing together for the first time the complete cycle of Khalidoc Va Navreen and his quest to avenge his sister. It contains the short stories The Tower; The Harsh Suns; and the novelette The Ascension of Arteman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason E. Thummel
• Release date: Jan 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301047031

Jason E. Thummel

Jason E. Thummel's work has appeared in Black Gate magazine, Flashing Swords, The Town Drunk, the anthologies Rage of the Behemoth and Magic and Mechanica, as well as in many other venues both online and in print. His contemporary flash fiction story "Contact," which was part of the charity project 100 Stories for Haiti, was later translated into Portuguese. He is the author of two hard-boiled, occult detective novels: The Spear of Destiny and Cult of Death, as well as a collection of 13 short stories of Heroic Fantasy titled In Savage Lands, the novella length collection The Harsh Suns, and the novel The Bladewitch.

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THE HARSH SUNS

Jason E. Thummel

Copyright © 2012 by Jason E. Thummel

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

All Rights Reserved.

December 2012

Smashwords edition

Cover art by Didier Normand

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

THE HARSH SUNS

I.  The Tower

II. The Harsh Suns

III. The Ascension of Arteman

About the Author

Other works by this author

As always for my family:

Duncan, Michelle

Mom and Dad

For your love and support

And for making me who I am today

&

For Sword and Sorcery enthusiasts, everywhere

You Know Who You Are

I. The Tower

The cold stone stair coiled into the darkness above. Khal wiped a sinewy forearm across his sweat-stained brow and cursed as the broken chain which dangled from his wrist shattered the silence against the stone. He pressed himself tightly against the wall and waited for the echoing sound to fade.

A flicker of light tore Khal’s vision back the way he had come; the softness of rustling cloth whispered from below. He knew there were other guards in the tower, but the ones that had been on duty in the dungeon lay bloodied and broken. He had made certain of it.

Or so he thought.

Khal crouched, flexed his muscles against the stiffness of his prolonged captivity, and waited. He struggled to calm his breathing and the heavy beating of his heart, to dampen the urgency of his need to flee, to be patient and to listen. He softened his focus, forced his body to relax to the power of his will, using the mantras as he had been taught.

There were no other sounds in the darkness, just the same whisper of fabric drawing nearer, the occasional hiss of sifting mortar crumbling from the joints of the ancient tower. There were no gongs or bells ringing, no cries of alarm.

Strange behavior for a guard who just stepped over the carnage of moments ago, Khal thought. There was little time to escape before the jailer made his rounds, but it was best to be sure. He gripped the blood-flecked chain for silence, turned, and crept back down the stair.

Light danced unsteadily against the passage wall as it brightened and drew nearer. From around the corner at the base of the stair, Khal used the reflecting light to track its approach and smiled. The bleached bones of Fortune’s cast were favorable. It was not the sickly pallor of sorcerous light, which was good, and the wielder would be blind in the dark, which was better.

The unknown person was almost upon him. There would be no second chances. He continued to wait.

The guttering head of a torch thrust out from the dungeon passage into the stairwell where Khal waited, the wielder still hidden beyond the corner. Khal unleashed in a single, fluid motion. One hand sent the torch flying as the other closed quickly over the person’s throat and squeezed the soft flesh closed. Still in motion, Khal used the hold to pivot behind the person, ready to twist and break the neck.

In the moment before the torch sputtered and died, Khal caught sight of two terrified, ice blue eyes, mussed raven hair, torn silk sleeves and ruby lips parted in a grimace of pain.

A woman.               

Do not scream, he whispered, and I will release you. I am fond of my life, though, so you would do well to make no noise. Agreed?

Khal’s vice-like hold did not waver until her head bobbed assent. He cautiously slackened the hold, poised still to break the neck if need be, no matter how slender and attractive. The woman took a deep, rattling breath and bent double as she fought the urge to cough. The scent of urine and filth clung to her flesh, but the sweet, fading aroma of flowers was there as well.

A prisoner, Khal thought, although she has not been held long.

Can you stand? Khal’s eyes searched the dark above for any sign of movement. The woman straightened and pushed away from him in way of reply. Khal’s hand lingered on her, betraying his indecision.

It would be foolish to take her with him. But if he left her in the dungeon she was certain to suffer retribution for what he had done. The other guards would not be kind to any prisoners that remained when they discovered the shattered bodies of their comrades.

Stay behind me and stay quiet, Khal said. I cannot wait for you.

The woman’s footfalls were loud in the tomb-like silence. She kept her hand pressed firmly into the small of Khal’s back as they ascended. The feeling was familiar, something his sister, Nisa, had done when they were children, when the moon made homage to the land of dead and there had been no light to find the pathways home. ‘No matter the outcome,’ she had said with a laugh as she pushed him forward into the unknown darkness, ‘we will at least be together.’

But not anymore.

Khal shook off the distant memories. Such remembrances no longer brought comfort, only rage. But he would make certain that many dead would keep the moon company when next it made its journey, to throw themselves at the feet of his sister. That was his silent promise to her.

A sliver of light leaking beneath a closed door cut the darkness ahead, and a shadow marched across it as someone on the other side of the door paced. The drone of muted voices carried through the wood, but Khal was unable to decipher how many might be inside.

Would it be best to slip past and continue up the stair, he wondered. Khal’s memory of the layout was scattered, confused by the blow to the head they had given him that first day before bringing him down. But he knew the doorway could not be the exit from the prison tower, he had not traveled far enough up the stairwell for that.

The door opened halfway toward Khal with a metallic click. A flood of yellow light escaped past whoever stood on the threshold and illuminated the landing and continuing stairwell beyond. His decision had been made for him, it seemed.

Khal roughly pushed the woman back against the wall; the sound of her shocked gasp was swallowed by laughter from deeper in the room beyond.

At least two, then, Khal thought.

A dirty fist holding a lamp became just visible beyond the large wooden door’s silhouette. A heavy leather boot stepped out, paused, and spun abruptly back toward the room, twisting the threadbare rug.

Khal tightened the chain around his fist and slipped forward.

My arse and your face, said the man in the doorway,