Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

  More questions flooded his mind.

  “How did you…die?” he asked. He was curious for the answer and yet fearful of it as well.

  His mother took a deep breath. “Your father and I were traveling north to Und. We had heard the Draknoir had never ventured that far north and felt we could hide there for some time. But a roving band of brigands assaulted us. Your father fought bravely against them, but while his attention was on the scoundrels, he took his eyes off of me. One of the bandits stabbed me and took our money purse. Your father didn’t realize what had happened until the others left suddenly.”

  Tears streamed down his mother’s face as she recalled the bitter memory. “He said such sweet words to me. Told me he loved me and that he would nurse me back to health. But I felt the life ebbing away from my body. The last thing I remember was his eyes, full of pain and regret. Then I was here with Yesu.”

  Yesu nodded somberly. “Your pain had ended, and tranquility sustains you now. Do not fret over Simeon, Ciara. He still flees from the Draknoir, but he is strong-hearted and prays to me often.”

  “My father is still alive?” Lucius interrupted, eyes wide. He never considered that anyone in his family had survived the Draknoir purges. His heart sank at the thought that he never met his father in person while he was still alive. It was ironic that what his father intended to do—protect his son from the Draknoir—had actually brought about the opposite result. He could not imagine how much pain that could cause a man.

  “Yes, Lucius, your father yet walks the mortal plane. One day he will rejoin your mother here in Caelum. But that is still quite some time from now,” Yesu said with a thin smile on his lips.

  He sniffed the air and gazed around. A light breeze suddenly moved through the landscape. The river’s current moved quicker now as the wind picked up, tossing Lucius and Ciara’s hair in all directions.

  “It is time, Lucius,” Yesu said grimly.

  “Time for what?” Lucius asked, barely hearing his voice through the ripping wind.

  “Time to return to Dwyfoltír. Your duty is not yet completed as the Ellyllei.”

  Ciara placed a hand on his cheek, gently caressing it. She frowned as she gazed into his eyes. “Goodbye for now, my son. Find your father and learn your history.” She turned from him and headed back to the palace.

  “Wait, Mother!” he cried, but she moved away from them without looking back. He looked to Yesu, puzzled by the man’s broad smile.

  “When you return, remember that you are my servant. I can do amazing things through you, Lucius. But you must believe in me. Follow my will and you need not fear anyone or anything,” he said. He gestured toward the river, and Lucius turned. In the roiling waves, he could see images forming. Images of his friends—Siegfried, Silas, Violet, and…Avani.

  “Step into the water, Lucius.”

  Without thinking about the words, Lucius walked down the bank and took the first step in the river. The water was cold, and the torrent of wind further chilled his body. He turned to Yesu, who stood watching him. The smile had not diminished on his face. Yesu gestured for him to continue deeper into the water. Fear welled up inside of him, but it abated when he considered Yesu’s words.

  Follow my will and you need not fear…

  Lucius trudged through the water, and soon the rippling river swelled to his neck. Panic began to set in. His heart beat quicker with each step he took. The ground beneath him began to sink lower with each step, and soon he found himself treading water. Then a strong gale blew a large wave toward him. He braced himself for the surge.

  The water hit him hard, forcing him into the depths. He struggled to surface, but the current spun him in every direction. Water rushed into his lungs as he kicked and flailed. He prayed, hoping that Yesu hadn’t abandoned him. No. That couldn’t be right. He would survive.

  In an instant he felt his body no longer submerged in water, but freefalling. Everything grew dark around him and he wondered how far he’d descend until hitting the ground. A slow thumping sounded in the distance. He searched around him, but blackness blanketed every corner of this chasm he fell through.

  The thumping grew louder and more recognizable. It was rhythmic and pounding harder with each second. It was…his heartbeat. The realization struck him at the exact moment he awoke.

  Lucius jerked up from where his body lay and gasped. His breath came in ragged bursts as his once lifeless body grew accustomed to life again.

  He was sweating profusely in a dark room.

  For a moment he wondered if he had dreamt going to Caelum and meeting Yesu. Had he really died and seen his mother? He shook his head. Then the image of the large Draknoir slaying him in front of Siegfried entered his mind. Yes, he had died. The pain of the moment was unforgettable. He surveyed the room around him. It was windowless, and smelled musty. Mice squeaked somewhere on the ground below him. He sat on some kind of stone table with…flowers laid on his legs.

  This is a crypt.

  He stood from the table, shaking off the flowers. Cracks of light filtered through the crypt, allowing his eyes to adjust to the space. He made out a door at the end of the cramped tomb and pushed against it. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder and realized the door might be permanently sealed from the outside. The temptation to despair hit him for a brief moment, but he shook it away. It seemed foolish for Yesu to resurrect him so he could die inside a crypt.

  Taking a step back, he charged at the door with his shoulder. The impact cracked the door jamb slightly, and he smiled in spite of himself. Another ram of his shoulder and the door gave way. He stumbled as the door swung open and fell onto the snow outside.

  Sunlight poured onto him, blinding him momentarily. His body shivered from the cold and he longed for the warmth of Caelum. Looking around, he found himself in a cemetery of some kind. Tombs made of white marble were arranged in a row along a narrow lane. Occasionally, a plot of graves marked with expertly cut tombstones broke up the pattern of crypts and mausoleums. He stood and dusted the dirt from his burial clothes, a long white tunic made of silk and matching trousers. The whole scene was surreal. He had died and been interred in a grand graveyard, but he knew not where or by whom.

  In the distance, he heard a chorus of voices. He followed the narrow lane toward the chatter, but it began to die down even as he followed the sound. Now a solitary voice boomed ahead and he increased his pace toward it. A ring of unexpected applause followed the speaker’s voice, and he guessed a large crowd was assembled nearby. Turning a corner in the lane, the path widened and more ornate mausoleums lined the path. Statues of stern men holding swords or sitting atop horses marked the graves of important people.

  He stopped for a moment when his eye caught a familiar name. Dietrich Dermont. He knew the monarchs of Aldron well enough to remember King Dietrich was Silas’ grandfather. Across the lane, he saw the surname again, and then he realized he was in the burial plot of Aldron’s fallen kings.

  A few more steps and he could see the crowd. They were assembled on a large hill just outside the royal burial grounds adjacent to the cemetery. The assembly numbered in the thousands by Lucius’ estimation. Their backs were turned to him as he approached, watching and listening intently to the speaker on a raised platform. Lucius looked up and saw Silas, dressed in a black doublet and cape, addressing the crowd.

  “Alfryd Dermont was one of the greatest kings Aldron has ever known. He was taken from us…from me…far too soon by an enemy our country knows all too well,” he said, swallowing hard before continuing. “But let us not speak of evil here. Today we mourn for our fallen king and celebrate his reign admirably. Tomorrow we shall gather ourselves up and face the dark forces which plague our land. Aldron will endure this storm as it must, and I will lead you as king.”

  The crowd erupted in raucous applause. Lucius saw many faces wet with tears and just as many others scowling angrily at the mention of Aldron’s enemies. He hadn’t expected that Alfryd would perish despite his poison
ing. Before he left, the royal doctors were confident the king would recover. But now, Silas was tasked with the burden of leading an entire kingdom and defeating the combined threat of Nasgothar and Ghadarya.

  Knowing his connection to the line of kings, Lucius shuddered at the thought of such responsibility. He wasn’t confident he could ever lead a nation through a rousing speech like Silas had just done. In fact, if he thought on it deeply, the role of a monarch didn’t suit his interests in the least. He would much rather be a Protector in Evingrad than a politician on a throne.

  As the crowd grew silent, Silas looked behind him at an ornate casket which held the body of his father. He motioned for pallbearers to come forward, and they lifted the casket to carry the king to his final resting place, a large tomb on the southwest end of the cemetery where Lucius had just come from.

  The new king gazed at the crowd once more, opening his mouth to address them again, but his eyes fell on Lucius. He hadn’t realized it before, but among the sea of black-clad mourners attending the funeral service, Lucius was only the person dressed in stark white clothing. He stood out among the throng like a daffodil in vast grassland.

  The crowd’s eyes followed the king’s shocked stare and many were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the young man.

  Lucius heard muffled gasps and shrieks among the crowd. An older man exclaimed, “It’s the boy’s ghost!” while a woman nearby whispered, “He weren’t buried but three days ago!” He grew increasingly uncomfortable at the wide-eyed stares of the crowd and instinctively took a step back. Glancing up at the platform, he saw Silas mouth something to himself. He had no trouble making out the words.

  “How are you alive?”

  CHAPTER 29

  THE CAGED FAERIE

  The cries and yells of someone being beaten woke Siegfried with a start. He winced as pain erupted throughout his head from the welt that had formed on his scalp.

  The dim room around him came into focus. He was in a dark, windowless cell cut from black rock. The Draknoir must be holding him captive in Nasgothar or somewhere in Arkadeus. Given how long the trek would be to Nasgothar from the Dulan, the latter was far more likely.

  The elf stood shakily on his feet and reached out for the nearest wall when his knees buckled. A bout of vertigo struck him momentarily, but he shook it off just as another round of screaming echoed outside. A metal door barred the only entry to the room and a half-inch vertical slit let some light inside. He walked up to the door, searching the outside. The limited viewing pane allowed him to see a burning torch hung from a nearby wall, but not much else.

  He searched around his meager accommodations. A pile of straw lay in the corner—his bed. There was also a wooden stool and a table with a broken tankard set upon it. Aside from debris littering the floor, the room was empty and slightly damp.

  Siegfried heard shuffling feet approaching the door. He stepped toward the door and peered outside. The silhouettes of two Draknoir passed by the torch. Between them, a smaller slumped figure was dragged toward the cell.

  A resounding clang on the metal door caught Siegfried by surprise.

  “Back away, elf filth!” the Draknoir jailer bellowed with a hiss.

  The door swung open briefly and the Draknoir tossed the small figure onto the floor of the cell.

  Siegfried gazed down at the person lying at his feet, and amid the tangled hair covering a heavily bruised face, he recognized Ulric’s visage.

  A Draknoir stepped into the room. It was the overlord who had knocked out Siegfried. The large beast glared at the elf, then looked him up and down contemptuously.

  “Not so brave now,” the creature’s deep voice boomed.

  Siegfried clenched his hands into fists, wishing he had a weapon at hand.

  The Draknoir laughed derisively, then swiftly kicked Ulric’s side. The dwarf groaned, clutching his ribs. Siegfried’s anger flared at the cheap shot, but he remained still, contenting himself to glare at the creature. The Draknoir shrugged indifferently then strolled out of the cell. Locks bolted from the outside and the jailers shuffled away, leaving them to their dark prison.

  “Ulric, are you all right?” Siegfried said, kneeling close to the dwarf to examine his wounds.

  “I’ll be fine…in a few days,” Ulric replied. He tried to sit up, but the pain from his injuries forced him to stay prone on the stone floor.

  “Easy, friend. Just rest for now.”

  Ulric nodded grimly, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment of respite from the torture he’d endured. In a few minutes, the dwarf was asleep and snoring loudly in the cell.

  Siegfried paced the room, pondering their dire situation. He wasn’t entirely certain why the Draknoir had allowed them to live. In years past, the Draknoir were known for kidnapping residents of villages in Ragnara and using them as slave laborers. Most of these captives died of the insufferable working conditions they were subjected to by their slavers. But a mass kidnapping of slaves hadn’t occurred in several years, so it made no sense to Siegfried that he and Ulric were kept alive for slave labor. They must be valuable to the Draknoir for some reason. The longer he thought about what that reason could be, the more worried he became.

  *

  Several hours later, a knock came at the door and a jailer uttered something indecipherable to Siegfried. A small opening slid open at the bottom of the metal door and a food tray clattered onto the floor. The contents of the plate were quite discouraging to Siegfried’s empty stomach. Black liquid with clumps of meat swimming in it hardly looked appetizing.

  “Bring it here, elf,” Ulric muttered. “I know your kind has a sensitive stomach, but that gruel smells tasty enough to me.”

  Siegfried frowned as he placed the tray near the dwarf’s mouth. His frown deepened at the slurping sound Ulric made as he gobbled up the nasty broth.

  A small movement outside the door caught his eye momentarily.

  “Someone else is coming,” he whispered.

  Ulric looked up at him, his beard dripping the mysterious liquid he had consumed. “Bet it’s that big one coming back to gloat. If I had my axe, I’d separate that fat head of his from his large neck.”

  Siegfried raised an eyebrow as he watched Ulric shove the last meat clump into his mouth. “You know that might’ve been poisoned.”

  Ulric snorted. “Better to die on a full stomach than starve,” he said.

  The locks of the cell door were undone and it swung open on its creaky hinges. A Draknoir of slighter build walked in, flanked by two larger minions, including the overlord who Siegfried grew tired of seeing. The smaller Draknoir had rows of horns running along the top of his head and plate armor that designated him as a leader of some kind. His yellow eyes turned to slits as he exchanged glances between Siegfried and Ulric.

  “You are the ones who tried to steal the gauntlet.” The statement was not a question, but more of an accusation.

  “Aye, what of it?” Ulric said in a defiant tone.

  The Draknoir’s head swung down at the dwarf sitting on the floor. A low hiss escaped the leader’s mouth. “You will both regret ever intruding upon our plans.”

  “Is that right?” Siegfried said, trying to sound disinterested but curious to know the purpose of this visit.

  “I would have commanded my warriors to skin you alive if I was on the battlefield, but Memnon has grander plans for the likes of an elf and a dwarf,” he sneered.

  Siegfried frowned. “Grander plans?”

  The leader smiled broadly. “Ah yes. You are both very crucial to a particular ceremony the master is quite fond of. A ritual of worship little known to outsiders.”

  Siegfried’s frown deepened. He didn’t know much about the Draknoir religion, and the little he knew was disturbing to most people. They worshipped a demon called Nergoth, a deity who enjoyed blood sacrifice. Often these sacrifices were brought about by self-mutilation, but he didn’t doubt their arcane practices took on more sinister forms.

  “I
’ll say no more and let you think on Lord Memnon’s ceremony, but I have brought a guest for you to share this pleasant cell,” the leader said, clearly enjoying himself now. He turned to the large Draknoir on his right and gestured behind him. The overlord stepped out for a moment, then returned with what looked to be an iron birdcage. A padlock was affixed to the small door of the cage, and Siegfried noticed a faint light glowing inside. The overlord tossed the cage into the room, and it clattered noisily onto the floor.

  The leader grinned again. “Enjoy your stay in Arkadeus. I promise it won’t last very long.”

  The group of Draknoir turned and strode out of the room. Siegfried noticed a malicious smirk from the overlord directed at him before the hulking beast left. He seethed inside at the monster’s wanton victory over him. Failure was not something he’d ever taken graciously.

  His inability to kill the Draknoir who’d slain Lucius weighed heavily on him. If only he had more arrows during their fight at the river.

  He pushed aside the bitter memory and focused on the present.

  “There’s a wee person inside this cage,” Ulric said with a tone of surprise.

  Siegfried crouched down to take a look. Between the thin metal bars, he saw a small figure on the floor of the cage. The glowing figure stood slowly, then regarded him curiously. A feminine face with doe-like eyes looked up at him. Dark curly hair adorned her head, starkly contrasted by her pale, almost transparent skin. She wore a dress stitched from leaves. A gap in the simple clothing exposed her upper back where two red stumps protruded—stumps where wings had once been.