Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

Silas sighed. “If my father dies before I return, send a message by courier to me and I will come back to the city for the necessary arrangements. In the meantime, I’m placing you in command of the city, Weifar. You will rule with my full authority,” he said.

  Everyone nodded and the matter seemed to be settled.

  After Lucius and Siegfried had received their orders to meet with the Drachengarde that evening, they took their leave of the meeting and allowed the rest of the nobles to continue their planning.

  Lucius, feeling exhausted from the entire affair, went to his room and lay down on his bed. It was only midday and he didn’t intend to sleep, but his eyes became heavy anyway.

  Sleep came quickly, and so did the dreams. Dragons and fire dominated his restless mind. He saw Evingrad burning in the distance as three dragons encircled the Breninmaur and viciously attacked it. In mere seconds, the branches of the great tree succumbed to the fiery blaze and the stone foundation crumbled.

  A knocking at his door woke him with a start. The light in the room had diminished considerably, and he realized it was late in the afternoon.

  He rose from his small bed and crossed over to answer the door.

  Avani stood in the doorway. She smiled at him briefly, but then her expression grew more melancholy.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said. “I wanted to bid you farewell before your mission to Neroterra.”

  “You don’t need to apologize; I was just taking a nap. Not a very restful one unfortunately,” he said with a bemused smile.

  “Still having trouble sleeping?” she asked.

  “Yes. The dreams come and go these days, not as intense as before, but they’re enough to keep me awake most nights.”

  Avani nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A silence passed between them and Lucius wasn’t sure what more to say, but he also wasn’t uncomfortable with the lack of conversation. He found that he actually enjoyed just being in her presence, and he wondered whether or not she felt the same way.

  “Well, I must leave you to make preparations for the journey. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon enough. This time with the Requiem Sword in hand, I hope,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Yes, I hope so too,” he said. Then he thought to ask her something that had been on his mind since the meeting. “Avani, why did you decide to leave tomorrow rather than today?”

  She smiled deviously. “Because I want Violet to accompany me on the journey to Numa.”

  “But Silas said she needs to stay here to help anyone wounded in battle.”

  “Yes, he did, but I’m a royal too and I need her with me, especially if I’m going to be saddled with that braggart, Brandewulf. I decided it would be easier to get my way if we set out after the prince of the realm has left,” Avani explained.

  Lucius nodded, but he didn’t approve of her trickery. Avani and Silas seem to disagree on many things, though it was fair of her to openly defy his order. Despite his reservations, he let the matter rest since there wasn’t much point in arguing over it.

  “I’m sorry; I should go now,” Avani said. “Please do take care of yourself.”

  “You too, Avani,” he said.

  The princess quickly leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. Lucius was completely taken aback by the kiss, but recovered quickly enough to smile warmly at her. She smiled sadly and walked away, leaving him alone in the doorway to speculate about that fleeting moment.

  CHAPTER 20

  NEROTERRA

  The Golden Plains were barren in the early winter days in Joppa. A cold breeze rushed through the short yellow grass of the hills that adorned the countryside. The land was often used for crop farming, but the harvest had long since ended and the fields were largely abandoned. The farming communities did not reside so far on the northern fringes of the plains due to the proximity of the protected forest surrounding Neroterra.

  From atop his horse, Lucius could see the first trees lining the forest and their bare branches, gnarled from age and almost warding off unwelcome visitors. They’d set out ten days ago, and the journey had been rough. With the onset of the winter cold, the nights camping on the open plain left him chilled to the marrow. The wind was no comfort either. With little tree cover to block them from the unpredictable winter gales in this country, he spent most days shivering on horseback.

  Besides the cold, Lucius also contended with his poor riding skills as he kept pace with experienced Drachengarde riders. Even Siegfried had ridden his fair share of horses throughout his long life, but Lucius had not been so privileged. Living amid the towering height of the Breninmaur, there was little need or use for horses. No stables were kept either in the city or in the forest of Verdania. Protectors were known for their skills on foot, not on beasts of burden. Now as he rode with thighs aching from the effort, he sorely lamented that fact.

  Despite the discomfort, the bay mare he rode was at least friendly toward him. She gladly followed the few commands he knew and was not a stubborn horse. Her name was Pennalyta, a regal name befitting a horse from the king’s stables. But Lucius decided to simply call her Penna.

  The company of seven stopped about a mile from the outskirts of the Neroterra forest at Silas’ order. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, Lucius guessed that it was around four o’clock in the afternoon. Light was dwindling on the plain, and he knew their plan to infiltrate the forest past nightfall would soon take action.

  “We’ll eat and rest for a few hours before we enter the forest. The orcs guard the southern perimeter, but their scouts are slow to get news into the city. It’s the advantage we’ll have riding on horseback since orcs despise riding,” Silas explained as he unsaddled his mare, Arabella.

  All seven members of the company, which included the dwarf, Ulric, followed Silas’ lead and unsaddled their own steeds. After tying Penna’s reins on a nearby tree stump, Lucius sat down and chomped on a piece of salted pork as Ulric started a fire. The dwarf had eagerly joined the party after the Drachengarde extended the invitation. While the others seem to grow more restless with each mile closer to Neroterra, Ulric grew more jubilant at the prospect of facing the orcs. Silas reminded him multiple times that the mission was to avoid bloodshed unless absolutely necessary. That admonition received a deep scowl from the dwarf, who desired to retake the old dwarf mine in Neroterra and crack some orc skulls while doing so.

  Siegfried sat down next to Lucius and watched Ulric struggle to light some kindling he’d gathered. The elf frowned as Ulric cursed when a swift wind blew out the small ember that sparked from his flint.

  “Here, let me help,” Siegfreid said kindly.

  “I can light a fire on my own, elf!” Ulric scolded, working the flint while he muttered under his breath.

  Siegfried shrugged and watched him, amused at the dwarf’s struggle.

  When the fire was finally lit, the group gathered around the fire to enjoy its reassuring warmth. Besides Silas, there were three other Aldronians with whom Lucius knew from training at Gilead Palace. There was Wesley, who he knew well enough from the myriad of bruises the man had inflicted upon him over the last few days. The senior officer was a handsome man with a crooked nose and muscular build. Despite his prowess as a warrior, he was a kind-hearted person, which was rare among skilled fighters. The other two Aldronians were Dudley and Morton. Dudley was a rank beneath Wesley, who was second-in-command of the Drachengarde after Silas. The man stood a head taller than Lucius and had a light frame. His hair was styled in an exuberant coif that matched his jovial personality. He often cracked jokes about Ulric’s height and the shaggy pony the dwarf rode. The light-hearted joking between the two had made the miserable conditions of their travel here much more bearable. Lastly, there was Morton, who was around Lucius’ age and very loyal to Silas. The young man seemed a bit reserved in his manner, in a way that made others take note of his words whenever he chose to speak.

  “We’re about an hour’s ride fr
om Neroterra. We’ll eat, sleep for a few hours, and then we move out after midnight,” Silas said.

  “How will we see through the darkness? There’s no moon out tonight,” Wesley asked.

  “I’ve been through this land during a snowstorm; we’ll be able to find the way. Trust your horse’s instincts,” Silas replied.

  He pulled out a map of the area, and everyone huddled around in the fading sunlight.

  Going over the plan once more, Silas emphasized the importance of moving quietly through the woods of Neroterra. Orc sentries guarded a generous perimeter around the outer wall, and ambling about noisily through the forest would surely compromise their positions. The main point of their infiltration would be in the northern corner of the city, which placed them near Banupal’s mine. Three of them would scale the outer wall and enter the mine. The rest of the group would act as scouts and sound a horn to alert the others if the orcs had spotted them. Multiple horn blasts would create confusion among the sentries and give the infiltrators enough time to escape quickly.

  “Remember, orcs are lumbering creatures. Use your crossbows to keep them at a distance. Up close they are much more ferocious and harder to defeat,” Silas reminded them. “Our dark uniforms should also help us stay concealed. Keep your hoods up and try to blend into the darkness as best you can.”

  Lucius thought their dark leather jerkins and gray cloaks were a nice touch to aid in skulking around Neroterra. Accustomed to the brighter green hues of elvish attire, he welcomed the chance to wear an outfit that didn’t make him stick out among a crowd.

  Silas studied the map closer then assigned each man a role, either as an infiltrator or a scout. Lucius, Silas, and Ulric would make up the infiltration team while Siegfried and the others would scout the outer wall and alert them. Lucius was put off by the fact that he and his brother would be separated, but Silas reasoned that the elf’s natural ability to navigate the forest gave him an advantage as a scout. It made perfect sense to Lucius, though he still resented the decision.

  After going over the map once more, everyone retired to their makeshift beds around the fire except for Morton, who chose to take the first watch of the night.

  Lucius knew sleep wouldn’t come easily with such an important errand close at hand. He tossed and turned in his thick wool blanket. The chilling wind made it impossible for him stay warm even so close to the fire. Low grunts and snorts from the horses nearby also kept him awake and eventually he gave up entirely, sitting closer to the fire.

  “Can’t sleep?” Morton asked, his back turned to the fire and gaze fixed on the tree line north of them.

  “No, but that’s not unusual for me,” Lucius said ruefully.

  “Oh right. You’re the Ellyllei from that elvish prophecy,” Morton said.

  Lucius sighed, unsure whether Morton was as skeptical as the nobles in Aldron’s court or not. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “You have nightmares of Kraegyn then?”

  Lucius nodded, then realized the other man couldn’t see him. Morton’s eyes hadn’t turned away from the forest of Neroterra. “Yes, I have them almost every night.”

  There was a short pause in the conversation and Lucius felt a bit of relief in the silence, but then Morton spoke. “I have nightmares too.”

  “Oh?” Lucius said thoughtfully.

  “Last winter I came here with Prince Silas. I was just a squire then, serving under Governor Gryn,” Morton explained.

  “Gryn? That must have been interesting,” Lucius said openly, then corrected himself. “I mean, I don’t mean to offend; it’s just that Felix Gryn is a bit—”

  “Peculiar?” Morton said, turning to him. A hint of a smile played on his lips at the question.

  “Yes, you could say that,” Lucius said.

  “I will admit that he was no saint in matters of governance. But before we venture down that path, let me finish my story,” he said.

  “Sorry, go on.”

  “Gryn was meeting with the orc leader, Banupal, to discuss trade between Neroterra and Tarshish. Then Silas and his men arrived on an errand to recover a gauntlet from the orcs. It was stolen by a goblin named Urbengal. I helped them hunt for the little devil, but it was quite a harrowing experience. The power from that gauntlet was…unnatural. It took control of our men and made us think they were orcs. I…killed a man who I thought was an orc. That’s when the nightmares started, I think,” Morton said grimly.

  Lucius pursed his lips, then stared at the fire for a moment. “I’m sorry, Morton,” he said finally.

  Morton nodded. “Since then I’ve learned a good deal about this gauntlet. It is a weapon from the very pits of hell. If we manage to steal it, we ought to destroy it.”

  “But what if we could use it against the enemy?” Lucius asked.

  Morton shook his head emphatically. “No. I’m convinced that no one except a magic wielder could control it. And even then the wielder must be aligned with Nergoth to make that gauntlet do his bidding. We must rid Azuleah of it, Lucius.”

  Lucius nodded. “I’m sure Silas will see to that.”

  They spoke for a little while longer about mundane topics like the increasing winter cold and the number of rations they had left for their return journey to Aldron. Neither broached the subject of the task awaiting them in the next few hours. Lucius felt it was unwise to fret over the mission at the moment. Instead he eased himself back on a flat rock near the fire and watched the stars overhead. He thought of Evingrad and Helmer. So many nights in his youth he ventured out into the courtyard at night, watching the night sky and occasionally glimpsing a shooting star across the heavens. Helmer sat outside with him a few times and told him the names of the constellations. Each had a unique story, and there were hundreds to be known. But his favorite was Aeneas, the proud warrior of the eastern sky. Aeneas was an honorable man, the story went, but he had a penchant for taking on challenges greater than him.

  One day he challenged a troll named Bartel to a duel. Bartel stood thirty feet tall and appeared like a mountain to Aeneas, but he challenged him nonetheless because the troll threatened to eat the peasants of Aeneas’ village.

  On the day of their duel, Bartel tried to pound Aeneas’ body with his massive fist. Aeneas, quick and agile, dodged the move and jumped on the troll’s arm. He ran up the length of Bartel’s arm and thrust his sword into the troll’s forehead. Mortally wounded, the troll careened forward and fell to the ground in a heap. But Aeneas could not dislodge his sword from the Bartel’s massive skull quick enough. So he was pinned to the ground under the troll’s massive weight.

  Aeneas didn’t die from his miscalculation, but no one could lift the troll to save him. So he spent the rest of his life pinned under the decaying body of Bartel. It wasn’t a happy story, Lucius thought, though the lesson was clear: never take on a challenge that is insurmountable. Alternatively, the lesson could also mean that a man’s pride could easily be the end of him.

  He wondered now in the soft glow of the campfire if he wasn’t like Aeneas, confronting a task too great for him. He was two years shy of being twenty years old, and he knew little of the world outside of Evingrad, save what he’d read in books. And yet he was tasked with a major undertaking as the Ellyllei.

  “Are you sure you’ve chosen wisely, Yewa?” he prayed quietly.

  It was not long before he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  A little over an hour later, Siegfried shook him awake. The grogginess he felt made him resentful of the elf.

  “Come on, Lucius. It’s time to head out,” Siegfried said.

  Lucius rolled his eyes and rose from the ground. The fire was now a smoldering heap with little more than embers providing a faint light in the overwhelming darkness. Even the stars were put out by an overcast sky.

  Lucius packed his belongings and saddled Penna, then he followed the silhouettes of the other men on horseback in front of him. They kept quiet, knowing their assignments without needing to discuss anything further. Even Dud
ley’s usual wit had disappeared as they approached the faint tree line of Neroterra.

  The forest was a cacophony of sounds. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, and an occasional hoot from an owl in the distance set Lucius’ teeth on edge. Sneaking through the dark woods was anything but easy. Silas’ original plan to be as quiet as possible was nearly impossible due to the leaves strewn about on the forest floor. The horses’ hooves crunched the autumn refuse loudly, forcing them to slow the canter of their steeds.

  “Here’s the road,” Silas whispered from up front.

  “Are you sure? I can barely see my hands in this darkness,” Dudley groaned.

  “I’m positive. Arabella remembers it, and the tree alongside it is a marker,” Silas said, gesturing toward the thick gnarled elm looming over them. “See that? They hang their prisoners on those ropes there.”

  Lucius looked up, but scarcely made out what Silas was pointing to. As his eyes focused in on the tree, he finally saw it. Long cords hung from branches and swayed gently in the wind. There were no prisoners hanging from the ropes, which relieved Lucius. He was anxious enough already without having to see the shadow of something dead above him.

  They crossed the secret road to Neroterra and steered the horses about a mile away from the path. Silas motioned for them to follow the same direction the road led: north. Lucius tried to steer Penna as best as he could, but the inability to see anything more than three feet ahead caused him to ride right into low-hanging branches and thick bushes.

  Siegfried came alongside his horse and grabbed the reins. “Here, give me the reins. I can see much better than you in the dark and we can avoid any injuries this way,” he said.

  Lucius frowned, but allowed his brother to guide him. He’d grown tired of navigating the horse through the dense forest anyway.

  They continued through the darkness on an incline that proved difficult for the horses. The woods were thick in this area, and even he could sense the horses were having trouble in the dark so close to each other.