Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3)

by Daniel Adorno

  Silas squeezed the hilt of his sword, ready to fight this terrible monster who had blighted his life. He took a step toward the archway then heard a yell from behind him.

  “Silas! Look out!” Becca screamed.

  He whirled around and glanced down the other side of the hall. A group of Draknoir were lying in wait for them. The Draknoir held crossbows, all trained on him. Multiple catches released before he could react. Then Becca tackled him to the floor. Bolts flew throughout the corridor—one embedding itself in her left shoulder. Dudley and Darius ran at the Draknoir archers, prepared to smite them before they reloaded their crossbows. But the Draknoir fled down the dark hall and the two Drachengarde gave chase.

  Silas stood up and helped his sister to her feet. She groaned, craning her neck to see the feathered shaft of the bolt in her shoulder.

  “Pull it out, please,” she pleaded.

  Silas nodded then quickly grabbed the shaft and yanked it from her shoulder. Becca gritted her teeth and exhaled loudly, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself.

  “Thank you,” Becca said breathlessly.

  “Well, well, isn’t this a touching sight?” A gravely voice said from behind them.

  Silas turned and saw Memnon smiling at him from the platform outside.

  “Brother and sister reunited at last. Here to save the world from the villains of Azuleah,” Memnon continued.

  Silas glanced at Becca, who stared viciously at her former mentor. She was pale and favoring her injured shoulder. “Stay here and let me deal with him,” he said.

  “Not a chance. You’re not the only who’s life he’s ruined,” she replied.

  “You’re wounded. He’s too powerful for you to risk—”

  Becca threw a dagger in front of her before he finished. The weapon spun out of the archway and straight at Memnon’s head. The sorcerer easily deflected the attack by slapping the dagger out of the air with the Gauntlet of Iniquity. But it was a feint. Becca rushed onto the platform while Memnon focused on the dagger. She cut wide across the Draknoir’s face seconds after he’d deflected the dagger. Her sword cut a gash across Memon’s face about an inch wide. He recoiled and screamed in pain, both hands flying to his face. His shoulders trembled in pain as Becca prepared for her next attack.

  Silas ran to join Becca’s side. Then they were both surprised by the sound of laughter. Memnon was laughing. He stood tall and lowered his hands—revealing his unmarred face. The Gauntlet of Iniquity had healed the injury.

  Becca launched a series of furious strikes. Her sword cut high then low at the Draknoir lord, but each move was parried by Memnon, who used the gauntlet like a shield. Sparks flew each time the blade and gauntlet made contact. Silas joined in the attack, targeting the openings in Memnon’s defense. But with supernatural speed, Memnon blocked both of their strikes with his gauntlet hand. Memnon cackled as they pushed their attacks, riposting and thrusting viciously at their sworn enemy.

  With every strike, Silas noticed the sorcerer was stepping closer and closer to the edge of the platform. There was no railing around the lookout point to prevent a three-story plummet to the courtyard below. The realization they were so high up unnerved Silas, but he pressed ahead. If he kept pushing Memnon closer to the edge, the fall would kill the tyrant.

  Silas flicked his wrist right then left, cutting in shallow arcs at Memnon’s front. The Draknoir took two steps back to deflect the moves then several more with Becca’s subsequent attack. He was less than an inch from the edge.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, King Silas,” Memnon said, chuckling softly. “It won’t work.”

  Memnon opened his gauntlet hand and thrust it at them. A concussive force slammed against Silas’ body, throwing him backwards on the floor. Becca flew backwards as well, but she landed on her side and rolled off of the platform. Her hands clutched the edge of the stone before falling from the perilous height. Silas hurried to help his sister, but wavered when he saw how high they stood from the ground.

  “What’s the matter, Dermont? Don’t feel the need to rescue your kin anymore?” Memnon said. The sorcerer placed his hands behind his back then shook his head in mock sadness. “It’s a pity she killed your father and so many Aldronians who swore fealty to you. You really should just let her die. After all, how can you trust her? She’s jaded. Corrupt and vile like me. No one needs to know you—the white knight of Aldron allowed her to perish.”

  Silas hesitated for a moment. Somehow the Draknoir deciphered his previous thoughts about Becca. He had put aside those doubts before, but now they were bubbling up again. In spite of himself, he could not completely disagree with Memnon’s words.

  “Silas, don’t listen to him,” Becca pleaded. “Please. Don’t be foolish like I was. Don’t let him divide our family again.”

  The words resonated deeply with Silas. He looked down at his only sister and didn’t see a monster created by Memnon. Instead, he saw a little girl hanging on for dear life. Waiting for her big brother to rescue her as she had done for him so many years ago. Putting aside his fear, he grasped her wrists then pulled her onto the platform. They crashed on the ground together from the effort. Their eyes met and Silas felt all the hate and bitterness fade away. His sister had returned to him at last.

  Before either of them could stand, Memnon was upon them. He grasped Becca’s hair and lifted her into the air. Silas shot up from the ground, sword in hand, but he was a second too late. He didn’t see the dagger in Memnon’s hand. The blade gleamed in the daylight then disappeared as it entered Becca’s stomach. She yelled in agony then Memnon tossed her behind him. She fell hard onto the platform. A pool of blood forming beneath her on the stone.

  “No!” Silas screamed.

  Rage filled his insides and he swung his sword at the sorcerer’s midsection. Memnon parried with the dagger then punched him with the gauntlet. Pain erupted from Silas’ jaw and tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He shook it away and swiped low at Memnon’s legs. The blade tore through the Draknoir’s exposed knees and he grunted angrily. Silas followed the attack with a quick thrust into Memnon’s chest. The Draknoir's eyes widened, shocked from the blade piercing deep into his flesh. Silas pushed it further with both hands until the tip came through his back.

  Memnon stepped backwards, dropped his dagger, and stared at the blood pouring from his fatal injury. Then the gauntlet began to glow. A maniacal laugh escaped the sorcerer’s lips. He gazed at Silas with wild, malicious eyes.

  “When will you learn, Silas Dermont? You cannot defeat me,” Memnon said. He gripped the hilt of Silas’ sword and pulled it from his body. The gaping wound immediately shrunk in size until it was no more.

  “Dear Yéwa,” Silas whispered.

  “He can’t help you now,” Memnon scoffed. Then with terrifying speed, Memnon swiped across Silas’ torso with the sword.

  Silas stepped back to dodge the attack, but not in time to avoid the blade cutting through his mail shirt and slicing the skin beneath. He fell backwards and felt warm blood oozing out of the cut. Memnon stepped slowly toward him, grinning wickedly.

  “It’s all over for you and Aldron,” Memnon hissed.

  Lifting himself onto his elbows, Silas crawled backwards toward the archway. He wasn’t sure what to do now, but he couldn’t hope to defeat this creature alone. Memnon talked endlessly as he inched away from him. He boasted about the greatness of Nasgothar and the magnificent era the Draknoir would usher in. Silas ignored him, his mind racing while he attempted to escape. Then a loud roar interrupted the Draknoir’s rambling. Silas turned to his right and could glimpse the dark shape of Kraegyn in the courtyard below. The Black Dragon was preying on some helpless victim.

  Memnon glanced at the dragon and snarled.

  Silas noted the disgusted look and used the distraction as an opportunity to cajole the sorcerer. “You Draknoir would be nothing without the help of those cursed dragons. When this is all over, you’ll be their slaves. After all, Kraegyn would n
ever share in your magnificent era,” he said.

  Memnon’s brow furrowed angrily. “You know nothing, Dermont. It is because of me that you lie low at my feet. Not Kraegyn!”

  He reared back and released a blast of energy from the gauntlet at the dragon. It struck the creature’s back and Kraegyn roared from the sudden strike. Silas rose to his feet during the altercation. He was about to run back inside the keep when he quickly glanced at Becca’s body. Her arm moved slightly—she was still alive. He couldn’t just leave her.

  The moment of hesitation cost him any escape. Memnon turned his attention toward him and smiled.

  “So, the king has risen for another round,” Memnon said. He tossed the sword at Silas’ feet. “Go on. Pick it up. Let’s see how futile your next attempt will be.”

  “Perhaps you could make the duel more fair by taking off that gauntlet,” an elderly voice spoke from behind them.

  Silas turned to see Alistair standing in the hallway behind the archway. The druid stepped out of the shadows, holding the white staff with the glass orb in one hand. His face appeared haggard and his eyes had a fierce defiance to them.

  “You,” Memnon said. “The druid with Nero’s staff!”

  “We’ve slain half of your dragons and killed hundreds of your minions. You will not win this day, Memnon. I suggest you take off that gauntlet and keep whatever honor you might have by surrendering to the three sovereign kings who have defeated you this day,” Alistair said.

  Memnon laughed. “Surrender? You are mad, druid. You think I’m cowed by your assessment of the battle? Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention to what kind of power I wield.” Memnon’s lips curled as he uttered the last sentence. He raised his gauntlet and the weapon glowed intensely.

  Out on the battlefield, Silas could see his army fighting fiercely to defeat the Draknoir. The carcasses of numerous Draknoir and a few dragons littered the ground. Pillars of smoke rose in different spots where dragon fire had scorched the landscape. The dwarves had all but decimated the Mundi lizards and their riders. It looked to him as if the battle would turn in their favor at any moment. But then Memnon’s necromancy took effect. In an instant, the corpses of Draknoir rose from the ground and picked up their weapons. Even at this distance, Silas could see the dismay among his soldiers. They were beaten and battered.

  “Perhaps it is you who should surrender now. Though it would be meaningless since I will not spare your lives,” Memnon said, grinning widely.

  The gauntlet glowed once more and he stretched out his palm, aiming it at the druid. A bolt of powerful energy released from the gauntlet, streaming past Silas toward Alistair. But Alistair anticipated the attack and caught the radiant bolt with the orb of his staff. The orb turned purple for a moment, matching the gauntlet’s energy. Then the color faded away into a brilliant white that blinded Silas for a moment. A burst of white flame erupted from the orb and shot out toward Memnon. The fireball disintegrated the Gauntlet of Iniquity and the Draknoir’s forearm with it. Memnon cried out in agony and clutched the burnt stump that remained. The sorcerer looked up at Alistair with a raging malice that terrified even Silas.

  “I will kill—”

  Becca appeared suddenly behind Memnon. She stabbed the Draknoir in the heart with his own dagger, surprising both him and Silas.

  “Not if I kill you first,” Becca whispered.

  Memnon’s eyes widened and he looked up at Silas, mystified by what had occurred. Then the sorcerer careened to his left and fell off the platform, landing with a sickening thud in the courtyard below.

  Becca, exerting her last ounce of strength to kill the Draknoir, collapsed on the platform. Silas rushed to her side. Tears streamed down his cheeks at the sight of his sister. She was deathly pale and her breath came in ragged gasps. Blood still ran from the deep hole in her abdomen, soaking her surcoat and mail shirt. He cursed under his breath. How could he hope to save her?

  “Is he dead, brother? Is he dead?” Becca whispered.

  “He’s dead, Becca. You saved us. You’ve saved all of us,” Silas replied reassuringly.

  Becca nodded and reached out her hand to him. He clutched it tight.

  “Hold on, Becca. We’ll get a physician on the battlefield to help you. Please save your strength,” he said. The words were unconvincing, but he had to give her hope.

  “Do you think he’d forgive me, Silas? I didn’t mean to hurt him. Would father ever forgive me?”

  “Yes, Becca, he’d forgive you. Just as I’ve forgiven you. He’d be proud of what we did today. What you did today,” he said.

  Becca gave a faint smile then her eyes closed. For a moment, he thought she’d died, but her chest still rose and fell with each labored breath.

  Silas looked to his left and had completely forgotten Alistair was still standing there, watching them.

  “She needs help. Can you find a physician?” Silas said.

  Alistair stepped closer and bent down over Becca, inspecting her wound.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Go get help!” Silas yelled.

  “Quiet, young king. Help is here,” Alistair said. He placed his hand over Becca’s forehead then lowered his staff over her body so that the orb was mere centimeters from the wound. The druid recited something unintelligible to Silas. Becca winced several times as the orb glowed softly. Her pallid hue improved and color returned to her face. Alistair withdrew his staff and Silas could no longer see the puncture wound.

  Becca opened her eyes slowly and looked up at him. “Is it over, Silas? Has the nightmare passed?”

  “Yes, Becca. It’s all over now.”

  Chapter 27

  Lucius opened his eyes and saw plumes of smoke floating past the spires of Arkadeus. The sun had not made an appearance this day on account of the gray clouds covering the sky. He felt a nagging pain in his side and he wondered why. Then the memory of what occurred came back to him. He stood wearily from the ground and saw the crumbled remains of the wall. A warm gust of wind from behind gave him a start. He whirled around and saw the terrifying eyes of Kraegyn watching him. The dragon stood crouched on all fours like a lion waiting to pounce on its prey. Instinctively, Lucius dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword and panicked when it wasn’t there.

  “Looking for the Requiem Sword?” Kraegyn said. The dragon gestured with his head to the right. “It’s over there. You dropped it after that nasty tumble off the wall. I thought for sure you would be dead from such a fall. But here you are, Ellyllei. Stubborn unto the very end.”

  Lucius glanced down the courtyard and saw the sword gleaming amongst the rubble and debris. But something else caught his eye. Standing a few feet from the sword was a familiar figure with white hair and silver eyes—Sêrhalon! The demon lord stared at him with a smirk on his face. Lucius’ heart pounded fiercely in his chest.

  “Go on,” Kraegyn said. “Grab your magical sword.”

  Lucius glanced at the dragon, taking in the malice of his eyes and the disturbing smile forming on his face. He turned back to Serhalon, but the Wretched One had vanished. Had he imagined seeing him? If he was really here in Arkadeus, Lucius stood little chance against him and Kraegyn. He stood unmoving, struggling to act on his instinct which told him to run and grab the sword. All the while Kraegyn stood there, staring at him—daring him to fetch the blade. The stalemate wouldn’t last long, Lucius knew. Eventually, Kraegyn would grow bored and burn him to ash, an image all too familiar from his nightmares.

  Then a blast of purple light struck Kraegyn from behind. The dragon fell onto his belly and roared angrily. Lucius wasn’t sure where the attack came from, but he didn’t care. He dashed toward the sword while Kraegyn recovered. The movement roused Kraegyn and the dragon was quickly on his feet again, running after his quarry. Lucius felt the tremor of Kraegyn’s footfalls as he neared the sword. The monster’s breath became hotter with each step. He was closer now. Lucius had to time this move just right. He bent low, grasped the hilt of the sword, and swiveled around
on his foot to face the dragon. Kraegyn, not expecting the move, tried to halt his advance, but could not slow his momentum.

  Lucius swung the sword high, cutting a deep gash across Kraegyn’s face from nostril to cheek. A sharp grunt of pain escaped the dragon and Lucius pressed his attack. He ran to Kraegyn’s left, cutting the flesh across the creature’s foreleg. Kraegyn recoiled from the injury then whipped his massive tail at Lucius. He ducked, avoiding the strike then swung the blade overhead to catch the tail. The sword bit deep into the tail, eliciting another painful roar from Kraegyn. Lucius targeted the dragon’s exposed wing next. He thrust the sword into the fleshy membrane between the thin wing bones. Then he cut a long gash in the membrane. Kraegyn pulled the wing away and tucked it close to his body. With any hope, the dragon would now be unable to fly high above Lucius for an attack.

  “I’m going to enjoy burning the flesh from your bones, Ellyllei!” Kraegyn yelled.

  Lucius held the sword in front of him and the two circled each other in the courtyard, near the broken wall. The Black Dragon growled as he stared menacingly at his enemy. Then he slashed wildly at Lucius with the claws of his foreleg. He jumped backward to easily avoid the attack, not realizing it was a feint. Kraegyn ducked low and whipped his tail again, this time catching Lucius in the chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Searing pain burned in his ribcage as he fell backwards onto the stone floor and lost his grip on the Requiem Sword. It flew several feet from him. clattering on the ground behind Kraegyn.

  “You really thought you could best me, Lucius? An ancient terror of old? How you and your friends were mistaken,” Kraegyn scoffed. The dragon opened his mouth to continue the taunting, but a trio of arrows suddenly pierced the monster’s neck.