Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

  While the tales of the dwarven king might be exaggerated, nothing Lucius had read seemed to make him less anxious about meeting the dwarf.

  “You needn’t worry about Balfour, young Nostra,” Alistair said. The druid had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. Before Lucius could respond, Alistair continued, “I’ve known the sons of Ulfr for many years, and they are of fair temperament. Tales of their bigotry and rancid tempers are often just that…tales.”

  “And how do you explain the wars with the elves then?” Siegfried cut in.

  Alistair shrugged. “I wasn’t alive then so I cannot speak to such affairs. But if I recall from my many books, the elves were not particularly kind to Ulfr by killing many of his sons in an unprovoked attack in the hills of Und,” he said.

  Siegfried raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in return.

  There was a long silence among them as they made their way through a narrow deer track on the edge of a smelly pond. Frogs leaped out of Alistair’s way as he led them through the pass to a shallow incline. The terrain changed from the muddy wetlands to rocky outcrops surrounded by dense woodland. They wound through a narrow defile that led them onto a hidden dirt trail. Along the trail, Lucius noticed rows of stones laid down to mark the pass on either side.

  “What is this?” Lucius asked, surveying the small boulders lined symmetrically on the path.

  “This is the Pass of Arӗd Dwynn. Long ago the dwarves of Djoulmir had friends in the Northerwyld who came to visit in the summer months. Distant relatives, you might say. One of these relatives was Ared, a noble dwarf who had gained the respect of the king. He killed many orcs and goblins in defense of his homeland, and Balfour’s grandfather made this special road for him so that he’d never lose his way back to Raven’s Peak.”

  “He was also a drunkard and a womanizer,” Siegfried said. Alistair shot him an annoyed look and the elf straightened. “Or so the tales say.”

  Alistair cleared his throat and continued. “Be that as it may, he was a hero to the dwarves, and his body now rests in the Halls of Douljmir with the other kings of the peak.”

  Lucius nodded, wondering what it must be like to live underground for the majority of one’s life. He loved the wilderness: the natural air and the trees, especially in an enchanting place like the Breninmaur. Being among the greenery of Verdania had allowed him to have a tranquil upbringing among the elves, whereas living underground in a dark cavern sounded miserable. He suddenly felt homesick for Evingrad. Helmer and Peniel were probably harvesting the elderberries and tomatoes in their little garden by now. He missed sitting on the portico, watching them absently as he read. It was such a mundane memory, yet so comforting now. The more he thought of the Silverhart Estate, the more sullen he became. And then the illusion Sêrhalon cast during their encounter rushed back into his mind.

  “I can end your suffering. You can return to Evingrad and forget this foolish quest,” the demon’s words echoed.

  He shook the memory out of his mind and tried to focus on the path ahead.

  Their progress through the rocky hills surrounding Raven’s Peak seemed slow and arduous. The ground around the mountain grew steeper with each step, tiring Lucius quicker than he anticipated. After they crossed through a thick copse situated on a jutting ledge along the mountain, they stopped their ascent and rested. Lucius sat down on a rock and unfurled his sack. He ate a few raisins and a slice of cheese while he surveyed the impressive mount before them. Clouds rolled low on the pointed tip of the mountain where snow collected at the high elevation. Flocks of ravens and crows were flying overhead and roosting on trees further up the range. Their grating caws echoed on the mountainside. He wondered if they were responsible for the mountain’s namesake. Alistair might know for certain, but the druid was busy.

  Crouched on the ground and staring intently at his right hand, Alistair rolled his staff between the fingers of his left hand. Lucius watched with keen interest. A trail of light began emanating from the top of the staff and enveloped the druid’s free hand. After a few seconds, the druid’s four-fingered hand grew an extra digit! Alistair moved his newly summoned pinky finger excitedly, then noticed Lucius watching him.

  “I’m sure you must think me quite peculiar,” Alistair said, grinning.

  “Well…yes. But I’m more confused than anything really,” Lucius replied.

  “I always summon extra fingers on my hands when I go out in public,” Alistair said nonchalantly. He gripped the staff in the other hand and repeated the spell on his left hand. “It’s best if nobody knows I’m a druid, being that I’m the last living one in Azuleah. Four fingers on each hand is a dead giveaway.”

  “If you’re so concerned about it then why did you trust us with your secret?” Siegfried asked.

  Alistair shrugged. “I have a feeling about people. It’s something of a gift that druids possess—good judgment, you might call it. Lucius, for example. I could sense before he had spoken a word that he wasn’t a man with ill in his heart. Of course, many are capable of such things, but not Lucius. He might fail or come up short in some regard. But he does not wilfully seek to do evil like others who’ve crossed my path.”

  Lucius wasn’t sure how to respond to the druid’s assessment of his character. In a way he felt flattered that Alistair had such a high opinion. But at the same time, he felt a bit insulted about the “coming up short” part.

  “And what about me?” Siegfried asked, stepping closer to the druid. “How could you trust me?”

  Alistair scoffed. “You’re an elf. Elves are good at keeping secrets. Almost as good as dwarves.”

  Once they had finished their meal they set out again on Ared’s trail. The path led them up a stony hill that eventually opened up onto a plateau. Lucius heard the sounds of clinking metal and the commotion of a crowd just ahead. A small market for travelers and country folk operated on the plateau. Lucius saw a dozen wooden stalls arranged in a semicircle where vendors sold their wares to a handful of patrons. As they approached the stalls, Lucius noticed that most of the vendors were dwarves. They all had long, thick beards and stood no higher than four feet.

  Alistair stopped abruptly at the edge of the market and turned to Siegfried.

  “You must stay here, Master Siegfried. We needn’t have any trouble with an elf on the front door of Djoulmir,” he warned.

  Siegfried’s eyebrows turned downward in a pointed V. “You mean to go in there without me? I do not fear what any dwarves will do.”

  “No, you likely do not. But if our plan is to succeed, we mustn’t offend the dwarves by bringing an elf to their homeland. You must remain out of sight…for the moment. I have a plan to get you inside the mountain, but let me work my magic,” he said with the barest hint of a smile.

  Siegfried frowned, then walked back toward the sloping path. He leaned his back against the trunk of an elm tree with arms crossed. Even under the shadow of the elm, Lucius could see the annoyed look on his brother’s face.

  “Would they really be that offended?” Lucius asked.

  Alistair nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Lucius followed the elder druid’s lead into the market, and immediately the dwarf vendors turned their attention to the prospective customers. Alistair waked over to a rickety stall with a crude wooden sign that read “Trinkets of Highest Quality.” The vendor inside the stall smirked as they approached. The dwarf’s hair was streaked with gray, but fiery red filled the rest of his head and face. His bulbous nose flared when Alistair came within a foot of him.

  “By the rocks of Ulfr, it’s Big Al!” the dwarf said with a broad grin.

  “Hello, Eliab. How fare the sales today?” Alistair said, gesturing to the numerous items on display inside Eliab’s stall.

  “Never mind that! How’ve ya been, old man? It’s been months since I’ve seen ye in Buck’s Folly. Have we become too good for ye now?” Eliab asked ruefully.

  Alistair chuckled. “Not at all, old friend. It’s been a busy summer. I
’ve had guests in the swamp and errands to do.”

  “Might this be one of ye guests?” Eliab said, gesturing to Lucius. The dwarf narrowed his eyes at him, looking him over as he twisted a strand of his bushy mustache. “He looks to be wearing some elf garb.”

  Lucius glanced at his brown leather jerkin and noted the swirling leaf patterns that adorned it: a hallmark of elvish apparel and design. He frowned when he also noticed the pattern on his leather boots and a bronze oak leaf affixed to the scabbard at his hip.

  “Now, now, Eliab. Let’s be kind. This is Lucius from…eh, Sylvania. He came to visit me in the cottage, looking for mithas.”

  “Mithas, ye say? A rare item, that is. Worth a few solid centas to any man or dwarf who needs it for weaponry. I sold my last bag a week ago, I did. And a fine price did I sell it for too,” Eliab said, overly pleased with himself.

  “It is a fine substance to be sure,” Alistair agreed.

  “So what can I do ye for? Do you need orichalcum or…what was it you bought last time? Ah yes, the Und quartz for ye staff. I dug up more of that on my last expedition in the Eternal Mines. Do ye need more?” Eliab said. The dwarf quickly disappeared behind the bench that displayed his various wares and tinkered with an assortment of boxes that held his stock.

  “No, not presently, Eliab. I am well-stocked on Und quartz,” Alistair replied.

  Eliab popped back up from behind the bench and raised an eyebrow. “All right, well what do ye need then?”

  “Information, my friend. Specifically about your good king, Balfour. Is he receiving guests as of late?” Alistair asked.

  “He might be. I haven’t been down in the king’s hall for some time. Last I heard, he was writing an edict on this dragon business that’s got the whole world turned upside down.”

  Lucius’ eyes widened and he asked, “What dragon business? Do you mean the attack on Aldron?”

  Eliab snorted. “Of course, boy, what’d ye think I meant? It’s all everyone in the realm is talking about. That and the Draknoir moving across the wastes to Arkadeus.”

  This time Alistair’s eyes grew large. “They are mobilizing?”

  “Aye. A group of travelers came by three days past and said they had a nasty run-in with Draknoir raiders on the foothills near Arkadeus. Most vagabonds travel on them old paths to avoid highwaymen and because they be mostly abandoned. Turns out some of the lizards are camped there now. Poor lads. They lost two of their company down there,” Eliab said, shaking his head.

  Alistair rubbed his chin thoughtfully and glanced at Lucius, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Lucius already knew that if the Draknoir were occupying the ruins of Arkadeus then they were in trouble. He knew enough of Azuleah’s history to understand the place had a strategic and nostalgic significance to the beasts. During the Golden Millenium, Kraegyn and Scipio centralized their forces within the granite fortress, allowing them unfettered access to the Dulan and cutting off any large attacks from the plains and forests of Ithileo. The only way to attack the location was from the Kroshan Wastes in the northeast, but that land was cursed and controlled by the Talij, a nation of nomads who were quite ruthless and unpredictable.

  “And what does King Balfour say to all this news of dragon attacks in Azuleah?”

  “Balfour doesn’t care about the problems of Joppa or anyone else who isn’t a son of Ulfr. His edict will probably be a summons for the dwarves. Many don’t reside in the mountain. He’ll be wanting them to travel back and stay out of this mess. We dwarves like to weather these storms by keeping to ourselves underground, where the only war being waged is against a pickaxe and a rock!” Eliab said.

  “That sounds quite cowardly,” Lucius said bluntly.

  “Boy, are ye accusing me of being a coward?” Eliab asked, placing his hands on the bench to draw himself nearer.

  The move to intimidate him might have worked if the dwarf wasn’t two heads shorter than Lucius. He opened his mouth to defy the dwarf, but Alistair put a hand on his shoulder to dissuade him.

  “Never mind the boy, Eliab. He is from Sylvania, remember? They speak more freely in those parts,” Alistair said, grinning widely to diffuse the situation further.

  “Aye,” Eliab said, stepping away casually. He picked up a whittling stick and knife, then began to carve aimlessly. “So ye be wishing to meet with Balfour then?”

  Alistair cleared his throat. “Yes, if he’ll have me of course.”

  “Ah, he’ll have ye. Everyone in Djoulmir has a soft spot for Big Al,” Eliab said with a smile. “What did ye wish to discuss with his Majesty anyway?”

  “I wanted to speak with him about the Elder Gates. We wish travel through one to Aldron,” Alistair said coolly.

  Eliab dropped the whittling stick and looked at the druid like one would a madman. “Ye…ye can’t be serious? No one has used the Elder Gates in decades by the king’s order. He won’t be letting an old man and a boy from outside his kingdom use it either!”

  Alistair gave a bemused smile. “Perhaps not, but I’d still like to speak to him nonetheless. Good day to you, Eliab. I’ll be back in the spring for more quartz.”

  The dwarf looked stupefied as they walked away, but said nothing more about their crazy errand.

  Once they were out of earshot, Lucius turned to Alistair and asked, “What’s an Elder Gate?”

  “Many hundreds of years ago, the dwarves dug very deep into the earth and found gateways that could transport them to very distant locations throughout the world. Many dwarves were unknowingly sent to faraway lands they’d never traversed. At the time, they reasoned that they could use the gateways to move entire armies to conquest a new territory, so they mapped out the Elder Gates as they found more and more of them in the deep crevasses of their mines. They created a sort of network throughout Azuleah,” Alistair explained.

  “But who created these gateways in the first place?” Lucius asked, fearing that such a network could be the creation of the Draknoir, or worse, Sêrhalon.

  “Nobody knows. There are many theories, but very few answers. Regardless, the gates were closed off to travelers almost a century ago. Balfour’s father thought it unwise to keep using them when most of the dwarvish population inhabits Djoulmir and rarely travels to the outside world. And the fewer people who traverse the Elder Gates, the less anyone will know about their existence,” Alistair said.

  “But if they’ve been closed to dwarves, what makes you think the king will allow us passage? And let’s not forget about Siegfried. He’s an elf! The dwarves will never let him use one,” Lucius explained.

  Alistair smiled. “My dear boy, I have already concocted a plan for this entire predicament. Don’t you worry.”

  Lucius remained skeptical. He feared mostly for Siegfried. Despite his brother’s prowess in battle, the fact remained that they could not defeat thousands of dwarves alone. He considered whether some kind of subterfuge might aid them, but then realized that they had no idea how to get in Djoulmir, much less find the right Elder Gate to Aldron.

  He continued to mull options over as they walked out of sight of Buck’s Folly. On a bend in the path, Siegfried waited for them. The elf was sitting under the same tree and sharpening his dagger with a whetstone.

  “Well?” he asked as they approached him.

  “Apparently there’s an Elder Gate inside Djoulmir that will transport us to Aldron,” Lucius said.

  “I figured as much. It’s the only reason to enter those awful holes the dwarves live in,” Siegfried replied.

  “Wait, you knew about Elder Gates?” Lucius asked incredulously.

  “Of course. The dwarves used them to infiltrate Marsolas at different points when they attacked the elvish armies. We found a few of them in caves underground, but never understood how the blasted things worked,” Siegfried said, frowning.

  “Rest easy, I know how they work. I had the privilege of traveling through one on an errand with Balfour’s grandfather, Baldric. There’s not much to it, especially if
you’re familiar with dwarven magic,” Alistair said.

  “So are we going to sneak into Djoulmir?” Siegfried asked, sheathing his dagger. “Because if we are, I only have two diaphonouspheres, so we’ll need to figure out how to hide you, Alistair.”

  “Diaphonouspheres are useless inside dwarven mines. The dwarves are greedy for their treasure hoard; any spells of concealment are easily detected within those walls. Many thieves have tried and met an untimely end, master elf.”

  “So what other option is there? I hope you’re not planning on leaving Siegfried behind,” Lucius said, his voice sounding more annoyed than he intended.

  “No, he will certainly come along, but not in a form anyone will recognize,” Alistair said, winking an eye at Lucius.

  “I thought you said spells of concealment won’t work?” Siegfried countered.

  “I won’t be concealing you. This will be a transformative enchantment to turn you into another being altogether.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to turn me into a filthy dwarf,” Siegfried said, cringing at the thought.

  “Not a dwarf; bipedal transformation spells aren’t really my specialty,” Alistair said, waving a hand dismissively.

  “What then?” Lucius asked, quite amused in the turn this conversation had taken.

  “Well…a chicken. You’ll be Lucius’ pet chicken. It’ll be a convincing ruse, I assure you,” Alistair said with a nod.

  Siegfried’s eyes widened, aghast at what he’d just heard. Lucius laughed at his brother’s reaction and the image of him clucking like a hen.