Despite the destruction, he held the door to the tunnels open, waving every living elf in the tower through to safety. The seconds felt like hours. Smoke filled the tower, making it difficult for Helmer to see if another was coming.
With no one else left in the tower, he turned to enter the tunnel.
“Help!” a muffled voice cried.
Helmer ran toward the cries and scanned the smoldering rubble around him. Ten feet from the tunnel, he found an elf maiden pinned under a beam. Grasping her forearms, he pulled with all his strength, but she barely moved from beneath the heavy beam.
A loud crack from above startled him. What remained of the western tower wall was quickly buckling: the ravaging flames were consuming the woodwork supporting the wall.
Helmer wasted no time.
He gripped the thick beam and heaved it off the woman in a desperate feat of strength. “Come on!” he yelled, pulling her up. She put an arm around his neck as he led her toward the tunnel.
Large wingbeats flapped nearby. The dragons were coming back for another attack on the tower.
Helmer ran to the door, flinging it open just as a breath of fire hit the careening wall. An ear-splitting roar filled the air followed by a thunderous crash that knocked him to the ground. Then there was darkness.
CHAPTER 2
CONVALESCENCE
Lucius awoke to the sound of birds chirping and twittering above him. His eyes opened to a dull hazy light pouring down from the ceiling. As his vision adjusted, he realized the light was coming from a hole in the roof where the trunk of a large tree had sprouted through. The sunlight cascading on his body felt warm and comfortable, and for the moment he didn’t care where he was. He only wished to slumber and enjoy the warmth.
The noise of approaching footsteps alarmed him. He turned his head toward the sound.
A tall figure in a flowing robe approached the bed he laid upon. The man was elderly, and as he grew closer, Lucius saw that his robe was quite dirty—almost as if this was the man’s sole article of clothing. Then he noticed something curious. The old man had only four fingers on each hand, not as though he was missing a digit on each, but his aged hands naturally had four.
And then the memories came flooding back to Lucius. He remembered coming to the Grey Swamps with Siegfried, meeting the druid, Alistair, and the brutal fight with the bear in the forest. He remembered Sêrhalon. The demon’s gray eyes specifically. Those cold eyes that shone in the moonlight.
“Lucius, you have finally woken,” the tall druid whispered, bending over to look at him.
“Finally? How long have I been asleep?” Lucius said in a low voice. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, uncertain whether the memories had caused the vertigo or the ache he now felt in his head.
“You have been incapacitated for three weeks,” Alistair said coolly.
Lucius rose up at that. “Three weeks!”
The quick motion proved to be too much for him, and he nearly collapsed onto the floor. Alistair held out an arm to steady him.
“Easy, boy. Easy,” he said in a calming tone. “You are blessed to have survived such a vicious encounter with the Wretched One.”
Lucius cringed at the mention of the name. “Where is Siegfried? Is he all right?”
“Yes, yes, he is quite well. Worried about you, of course. He spends most of his mornings scouting the forest. I think he is concerned the darkness will return and cause you harm again. He should be back by midday. Elves are very much married to their routines, you know.” Alistair smiled briefly.
“I’m well aware,” Lucius agreed.
Throughout the conversation he noticed something peculiar while Alistair spoke. Lucius’ right ear did not intake the speech well. He heard a muffled sound when the druid spoke rather than actual words. Lucius tapped the ear a few times involuntarily, and Alistair noticed.
“You’re still deaf in that ear, I’m afraid,” he said with a frown. “Siegfried told me he used the bywydur, but I don’t think it’ll work in this case. You were harmed by banshees’ magic—a very dark sort of magic. Although the bywydur is highly potent in healing injury and providing vitality, it is insufficient to deal with such dark conjurations.”
Lucius’ forehead creased in a deep frown. In the week following his encounter with Siobhan and her sisters, he had foolishly hoped that the elixir would eventually heal his deafness. Now the reality that he would be half-deaf for the rest of his life severely depressed him. The intense headache he felt gave him little reason to hope for better days.
Alistair noticed his sullen mood and patted him on the shoulder. “Do not despair, my boy. Be thankful that you are still alive and are able to hear at all. You’ve been through a great ordeal: banshees, dark forces, and a treacherous journey. And yet, Yewa has found favor in you. That should be something to cherish.”
The druid rose from a stool near Lucius’ bed and grabbed a glass bottle filled with a familiar drink. He poured a glass into a small goblet and handed it to Lucius. Lucius took it reluctantly, knowing the bitter wine was not the most pleasing drink to ingest. He placed the cup to his lips, but Alistair raised a finger to stop him.
“Sometimes the wine we think is most bitter to drink happens to be the most helpful for us. Remember that young Nostra,” he said. Then the old druid poured himself a glass and they drank together.
As Lucius expected, the wine was indeed bitter, but the drink gave him a warm feeling inside. It wasn’t merely the alcohol causing the feeling, but a reassuring sense that everything would be all right. A feeling of hope—though small—that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
By midday, Siegfried had arrived at Alistair’s cabin. He entered the small cabin holding two hares he caught in a field nearby. Apparently his morning jaunts included hunting small game for Alistair, who had subsisted for most of his life on nuts and berries that the birds brought to him.
Once Siegfried realized that Lucius was awake, he ran to him and grasped him in a tight embrace. Elves seldom showed such overt affection, but the Silverharts were different than most elves.
“I have been anxious for weeks over you, Lucius. Your fight with the bear was hard-won and left you near death’s door. I’m glad to see that Alistair’s skill in healing has helped you regain your strength,” he said, beaming with a smile extending to each ear.
Lucius returned the smile, but his was noticeably feebler. “I’m happy to be back in the land of the living. Now what’s this business about hunting? You’ve always hated killing animals for food.”
“In the past, I have. But our survival is crucial now and our friend, Alistair, was very persuasive about his need for meat on his plate,” he explained.
Alistair raised an eyebrow at the statement. “You cannot hold it against me that occasionally a good bit of meat is helpful for the stomach. And I somewhat respected your convictions against hunting. I forbade you to harm any birds or fowl, after all. For fairly obvious reasons.”
Siegfried laughed. “Quite obvious.”
Lucius was surprised to see the casual manner between Siegfried and Alistair. His brother rarely smiled or chatted so freely with strangers. Alistair must have had a profound impact on the elf during Lucius’ convalescence.
“So what’s our plan now, Siegfried? I’m almost recuperated. We should start planning our next move to unite with Violet and Naomi.”
“Everything in due time, Lucius. You’ve only just awoken from your slumber. Let’s have a few more days of rest before we set—”
“I don’t need any more rest, Siegfried!” Lucius snapped, louder than he expected.
Alistair turned to him with raised eyebrows, puzzled at the outburst. Siegfried didn’t say a word for a moment. Then he finally added, “I understand you don’t want to be idle.”
“Do you? You weren’t the one who nearly got himself killed fighting a possessed beast. And remind me, did you nearly die fighting off a pack of banshees who screamed away all sense of hearing in your ear?” Lucius ask
ed, fighting off tears. He knew the words were childish and petty, but he couldn’t help it. What had started as a distracting adventure from Evingrad had quickly turned into a painful slog. He no longer wished to be an injured weakling who couldn’t accomplish his task. But at the same time, he resented being the Ellyllei. If so much must be sacrificed to reforge the Requiem Sword and defeat the dragons, he wondered if he should have any part of it at all.
“Alistair, would you give us a moment?” Siegfried said, turning to the druid.
Alistair nodded and walked across the room to his pile of books and a group of birds anxious for a snack from their master.
Siegfried crossed his arms, shaking his head in disapproval.
“What?” Lucius asked, meeting his brother’s gaze.
“I’m surprised at you, Lucius. You’ve never struck me as the kind of person who would dwell in self-pity and loathing.”
Lucius’ anger fumed at the comment. “Well, get used to it. I’m tired of being beat up on this journey of ours. I’ve just about had enough, Siegfried.”
“Lucius, we’ve both seen a share of toil since we left Verdania. We may experience more trials before we reach Aldron or find the Requiem Sword. But know this: I will always be by your side, brother. No matter what we face…we will face it together.”
Siegfried placed a hand on Lucius’ shoulder and squeezed it gently.
Lucius felt like a fool now. He looked up at his older brother and nodded. “Forgive me, Siegfried. I’m just so very tired.”
“As well you should be! You took on a dark creature in that forest. I don’t expect you to be galloping like a spring deer anytime soon,” Siegfried said, another smile forming on his face.
This time Lucius grinned at the joke, rekindling some of their jovial ribbing. He pointed at the dead rabbits Siegfreid held in his hand. “Well, are you going to make a meal out of those hares or what? I’m starving.”
After a few more days of rest, Lucius regained much of his strength and began taking walks around the area surrounding the cabin. Siegfried cautioned him not to go too far, fearing that the Wretched One might still return to torment him. But Alistair made it clear to both of them that the demon lord’s presence had forsaken the Grey Swamps. Neither Lucius nor Siegfried was skeptical about that, but they did relax a little knowing the former darkness of the place had lifted.
On the fifth day of Lucius’ recovery, they all sat inside the cabin, discussing old folklore about the Requiem Sword. Namely, the origins of the sword which Alistair knew more about than either Lucius or Siegfried.
As Alistair discussed the history of Siegfried’s great-grandfather, Irribu Silverhart, a loud screeching call came from overhead. Craning his neck to the opening in the ceiling of the cabin, Lucius saw a peregrine falcon descend from the hole and perch itself onto a branch of the tree that filled the space.
“Archibald, you’re home early. I don’t normally see you until the springtime. What are you doing here?” the elder druid asked, looking at the bird curiously.
The falcon chirped a few times, and Alistair nodded in comprehension. For a few minutes the two carried on what seemed to Lucius like a perfectly normal conversation, except neither he nor Siegfried understood the unintelligible chirps and squawks. Finally, Alistair stood erect and turned toward them. His eyes were opened wide with mouth agape.
“What’s the matter?” Lucius questioned.
“Aldron has been attacked,” Alistair whispered. “A dragon from Ghadarya attacked Gilead Palace more than a fortnight past.”
Siegfried took a deep breath, ready to respond, but Lucius started first. “How is that possible? The Drachengarde defend the city. Surely they would have stopped any dragons from attacking before they were within a mile of the castle.”
Alistair shook his head. “Archibald says the Drachengarde were away, fighting in the forests of Ithileo against the Draknoir.”
Siegfried and Lucius looked at each other quizzically. Now it was the elf who shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Are you sure we can trust…a falcon to give us accurate information?”
Alistair’s eyebrows knotted in a deep frown. “I have never had any reason to doubt Archibald. He has been quite reliable in all the years he’s come to me.”
The falcon gave out a sharp cry in agreement with the druid. Siegfried raised an eyebrow, but let the matter rest.
“So how much damage has been done to the city? Were there many casualties?” Lucius asked, feeling a sudden weight growing in his stomach. He thought of Silas, Violet and Naomi. They would all have been in Aldron during the time of the attack. Could they have lost their lives to the dragon’s fire? He tried not to speculate too much, but the thought of their deaths was persistent in his mind.
“From what Archibald tells me, the damage to the city was extensive. Most of the wooden structures and settlements have burned down. The east wing of the palace has also suffered some damage,” Alistair said grimly.
The mention of the palace only increased Lucius’ fears about Naomi and the others. He imagined they’d stay at the palace with Silas once they reached Aldron.
He shook the dreadful thought from his mind and tried to stay positive.
“But the city was not razed, correct?” Siegfried asked. The elf remained calm and collected throughout this revelation, as elves often did in most stressful situations. If there was any hint of worry or despair, Lucius could not see it on his brother’s face or body.
“No, most of the city is still intact, and they even managed to kill the dragon. I’d never believe such a thing was possible without the Drachengarde on watch,” Alistair said, tapping a finger to his chin.
“Really? The dragon…killed? By whom, I wonder?” Siegfried said in utter amazement.
Archibald flapped his wings and screeched lightly. Alistair nodded in what looked like agreement with the bird. “Yes, yes. It’s very peculiar indeed.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow, hoping for some elaboration between the druid and the falcon’s exchange.
“It seems a dwarf killed the dragon in the town square,” he said. “I don’t think in all my years traveling and reading numerous histories have I ever heard of such a thing. Dwarves are very solitary creatures. They don’t care for leaving the comfort of their mines or caves.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Siegfried said, rolling his eyes. Elves and dwarves shared a mutual enmity.
Lucius learned of the elves’ distaste for dwarves under Helmer’s tutelage. The wars between elves and dwarves in the Archaic Age were nasty affairs. Neither the D’aryan elves nor Ulric’s kin showed much restraint in the atrocities both races unleashed toward the other. It was a brutal era, and Lucius was happy that both peoples had settled far from each other to avoid further conflict.
“Do you mean to say that there’s never been a dwarf who’s combated a dragon?” Lucius asked, now curious at the thought.
“Not that I’m aware of. The closest beasts to dragons that the dwarves of Ulric have fought are wyverns: great flying snakes which would descend into the tunnel passageways of dwarven mines to eat their gold and silver. For obvious reasons, the dwarves loathed the creatures and slaughtered them in droves. I don’t believe any exist today.”
“None that I know of,” Siegfried affirmed.
“All right, so a dwarf killed the invading dragon in Aldron. Were there any other attackers, Archibald?” Lucius said, unwittingly looking in the falcon’s direction.
The bird turned an eye at him and almost seemed to give a shrug—in so far as falcons were capable of shrugging. Alistair interpreted the motion and shook his head. “No, it was only the lone dragon.”
“Why send a single dragon to fail in destroying the capital of Joppa?” Siegfried mused.
“To send a message,” Lucius said. He didn’t mean to speak the words aloud, but the thought had just come to him. It seemed logical that the dragons would not send their entire force to destroy Aldron just yet. If he guessed cor
rectly, Kraegyn was still not raised.
His dreams of the black dragon had continued, but their intensity had diminished recently. Perhaps the dragon leader had other concerns on his mind besides tormenting him—namely, finding a way out of the Abode of Shadows. With that in mind, Lucius surmised that Ghadarya wished to make their presence and power known. And the best way to do that would be to attack a stronghold of men—their most hated enemy.
Lucius relayed his thoughts to Siegfried and Alistair. Both of them nodded their agreement that this strategy was exactly what the dragons and Draknoir would pursue—to destroy the morale of the men of Joppa before the real fight began.
“I think it’s more crucial now that we reforge the sword. Time is running out for us, Siegfried,” Lucius said ruefully.
Siegfried nodded slowly. “Yes, we must get to Aldron and find the others. I would have liked to allow you a few more days of recuperating, but we’re already behind schedule.” The elf turned to Alistair and flashed a smile. “We are forever in your debt for all you have done for us, Master Alistair. I hope you’ll forgive our sudden departure.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Siegfried. Although I am curious as to which way you intend to take to Aldron?” the druid asked.
“Probably Jun-Jun Pass, then we’ll head east to the main road. It will be a long walk, but I hope we’ll make it south before the onset of winter,” Siegfried said.
Alistair shook his head emphatically. “That simply won’t do, I’m afraid. With the shortening daylight of the autumn, you’ll encounter more highwaymen and bandits than the summer months. I’m sure you can fend for yourselves, but the journey will be delayed considerably.”
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 2