“No?” Urbengal whispered, raising an eyebrow. “Who else would wish to control such…power? Who else, but—”
Thwak! A crossbow bolt whistled through the air and shot past Silas’ right hip, finding it’s mark in Urbengal’s throat. The shaman’s eyes widened in disbelief. He gurgled softly before collapsing on the snowy ground. The gauntlet—once glowing bright and fierce—now dimmed until it resembled unpolished metal once more.
Silas turned to Troy and Morton and beside them stood Felix holding a crossbow in his hands. His chest armor bore a large scorch mark from the gauntlet's blast, but otherwise, he looked unscathed. He dropped the weapon and shrugged, “I tired of hearing him talk.”
Chapter 10
Welcome departure
“We had an accord!” Banupal bellowed. He glowered at Silas and Asher from his throne. He had two orc warriors holding spears and flanking him at each side. Their stares looked more disdainful than Banupal's. “The gauntlet stays here in Neroterra—that was the treaty I made with your father.”
Silas sighed, forcing himself to stay calm. Yesterday’s events with Urbengal had drained him of energy. He had no desire to argue with a self-important orc overlord. His thoughts lingered on his men. Most of his soldiers suffered injuries from the battle at hilltop. Some even felt a deep anguish from fighting their own brothers-at-arms as orcs. He had also lost four of his best fighters and Asher had endured a nasty concussion thanks to Felix's ruse. To make matters worse, Banupal was furious over losing Lofur and his battalion. The overlord questioned the validity of Silas’ story about Lofur’s betrayal at the hands of Urbengal. Banupal thought it too convenient that his forces could be possessed and summarily slaughtered by the Aldronians. Now he wanted his precious gauntlet back to store safely in his treasure hoard. But Silas still had unanswered questions about that cursed glove.
Urbengal had mentioned someone had promised him the gauntlet. Somebody Silas knew very well. He referred to him as "The Master". Silas had lost sleep trying to deduce who this person or creature might be, but with little success. He suspected Felix might know something. The killing blow he dealt before the goblin revealed the secret was no coincidence. And there was also the matter of Felix‘s faked possession.
“None of my men escaped Urbengal’s spells, how did you manage it?” Silas questioned Felix on the trip back to the city.
“Simple, my lord,” he replied, pulling a black necklace from beneath his undershirt. “A Drakul necklace will ward off many enchantments.”
Drakul necklaces were once instruments used by servants of Nergoth, the Draknoir god of malice, to perform their dark rituals. Silas’ ancestors destroyed most of the trinkets in campaigns aimed at purging Nergoth worship from Joppa and its surrounding territories. But some of the foul necklaces still existed. Probably sold for a handsome price by the Spindle and likely where Felix acquired it. Although the governor was less than scrupulous on many fronts, Silas never imagined the man would possess such a dark artifact. Owning a Drakul necklace implied the wearer was sympathetic to the Draknoir, a reptilian race of creatures at war with Aldron. The necklace also carried a stigma of demon worship. A stigma no one--least of all a noble--wished to be associated with. Both the necklace and Felix’s possible connection to Urbengal’s master raised Silas’ suspicions considerably. Felix was hiding something and Silas hoped to uncover whatever it might be.
“Well? Have you not heard my objections, Prince Silas?” Banupal asked, snapping Silas back to the situation at hand.
“Yes, I heard your complaints, Banupal. But this gauntlet is too dangerous to be kept here in an unfortified village,” Silas replied.
Banupal’s green face turned a shade of crimson. “How dare you insult my city! Are fortifications are more than adequate to guarding the gauntlet and I have legions of orcs at my command here.”
“And yet,” Silas said, stepping closer to Banupal’s throne. “A single goblin slipped under your defenses and stole it.”
“Urbengal was no mere goblin as I’m sure your men can attest to,” Banupal said, shifting his gaze to Asher. A linen bandage covered the elder man’s forehead, and he scowled at the half-orc’s slight. Banupal ignored him, rising from his throne and descending the dais. He stood only a foot from Silas. “I must warn you, Prince. If you leave this city with the gauntlet, you will not only break the pledge of your king, but also declare war with my people. You may believe Aldron is well-equipped to dispel the orcs in this realm, but you don't know the kind of allies I can marshal under Neroterra’s banner.”
Silas glared at Banupal, but the half-orc met his gaze defiantly. He wasn’t bluffing. With a low sigh of defeat, Silas turned to Asher who held the gauntlet in a small burlap sack. “Hand him the gauntlet, Asher,” Silas said.
Asher furrowed his brow in confusion, but followed the order. Banupal took the sack and handed it to the guards then quickly ordered them out of the room. “You’ve made a wise decision, my lord. You have my sincere gratitude,” the half-orc said, struggling to hide his glee.
“Spare me your gratitude,” Silas shot back. “I will honor my father’s treaty and I expect you to honor your word to protect that gauntlet from anyone seeks it for ill.” Silas took a step toward Banupal and the two were mere inches apart. “Know this. If I suspect you plan to use that gauntlet for ill, I swear by Yéwa I will march on this city with every soldier in Aldron’s army. Do you understand?”
Banupal smirked. “Yes, Your Highness. And I will also expect ample compensation for the orcs killed in the skirmish with Urbengal.”
Silas clenched his fists at this sides, but said nothing.
“Now please…take your leave of my city. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
What little hospitality the orcs offered to the Aldronians disappeared once Silas exited Banupal’s throne room. His men hurried to pack their horses as the residents of Neroterra watched them with vicious scowls and glares. Felix and his servants were the first to load their horses. The governor, dressed in a black doublet with a satin crimson cape and a feathered cap, looked like a flamboyant crow. He mounted his horse and galloped over to Silas.
“I’ve never seen the orcs look so grumpy. You must have really stoked Banupal’s ire, my lord,” Felix said, grinning.
“The half-orc is an indignant child. I can’t help needed he throws a tantrum when he’s challenged to reason.”
“Aye,” Felix replied. “Well, I’m off to Tarshish. I expect to see you in the spring for the Feast of Houses?”
“Indeed,” Silas said, his back turned while he brushed his bay mare.
“You’re not still upset about that bump I gave to Asher? I told you it was necessary—”
“No, I’m not. But something else is on my mind.” Silas turned around to face him. “Who is Urbengal’s master?”
“What?” Felix asked with a chuckle. “How the devil should I know?”
“You shot him before he could tell me. I find that oddly convenient. Along with your choice of jewelry before encountering a spell caster.”
“What exactly do you mean by that? If you’re trying to accuse me of something then say so.”
Silas narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust you, Felix. I never have. But now, I’ll be keeping an even closer watch on you and Tarshish.”
Felix scoffed. “I don’t care for idle threats, your Majesty. You desperately need to work on your diplomatic skills. You seem unable to tell the difference between your allies and your enemies.” With that, Felix kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and trotted away. His valet quickly steered his own horse after him, but Morton rode toward Silas.
“My Lord Silas, I meant to thank you earlier—for allowing me to fight at your side. It was a great honor, sire,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Think nothing of it, Morton,” Silas said with a smile. “Once your apprenticeship ends, do consider coming to Aldron. I may have a place for you in the ranks of the Royal Guard.”
Morton’s e
yes lit up. “Really? That is, I would be honored, sire—”
“Morton!” Felix’s shrill voice called out. “I’m catching my death of cold. Come along already!”
The young man’s face turned white, and he called back, “right away, my lord Felix!” Before he trotted after the governor, he turned again to Silas. “Thank you again, my lord. Yéwa bless your journey.”
“You as well, Morton.” Silas replied, watching the three horses canter away to the open gate. He finished brushing his horse then gave the order to leave. Troy needed assistance climbing into the saddle on account of his broken leg. Asher tied the reins of the wounded man’s horse on his own saddle to make the trip easier. Troy argued against it for the sake of his pride, but Silas insisted on it. He needed no more casualties on this trip.
Asher climbed his saddle and strode around the mounted soldiers, checking that all of their supplies were in order before reporting back to Silas. “All the men and their equipment are accounted for, my lord. Ready to ride at your command,” he said.
“Good. Let us leave this awful place,” he said.
The horses’ hooves clacked on the worn cobblestone road leading to the gate. A pair of orc sentries growled at them as they exited the city. “We’ll miss you too,” Silas said, eliciting a smile from Asher. The sun gleamed through the snow-covered trees on the winding lane they followed. A nuthatch descended a trunk beside him and songbirds twittered in the treetops above them. It was a serene winter scene in stark contrast to the horrors of the last few days. He thought of Leonard, Geoff, Leif, and Philippe. Four brave men lost and now buried in Banupal’s cemetery, far away from their homeland. His thoughts lingered on them for a while before the gauntlet entered his mind. A magical weapon like that wouldn't be kept secret long.
“You’re worried about the gauntlet, aren’t you?” Asher said, reading his mind.
“Of course. I doubt Banupal will keep it safe. He may not be plotting to do anything with it, but news of what occurred in Neroterra will spread which means unsavory people will turn their gaze here.”
“People like Gryn,” Asher replied, grimly.
“Yes and others of his ilk. We must stay vigilant and inform my father about everything. Perhaps we can undo this burdensome treaty,” Silas said.
The wind picked up as they reached the edge of Neroterra’s forest. In the distance, Joppa’s rolling hills covered the landscape and somewhere beyond the towers of Gilead Palace pierced the sky. Silas turned to look back at Neroterra. A sense of dread filled him as he peered through the leafless trees, the serenity of the place now gone. Somewhere in that vast woodland, the gauntlet lay hidden and safe. But Silas feared the dark forces in Azuleah would soon find it. Facing forward in the saddle, he dug his heels in the sides of Arabella and quickened her to a canter. He would return to Neroterra and retrieve the gauntlet somehow. Even if it meant killing Banupal.
Chapter 11
The Blade Heir
An excerpt from The Blade Heir (Book 1 of The Azuleah Trilogy)
The blue mist permeated the air once more and enveloped Lucius in the darkness of the land of Azuleah. Before him stood a great fortress, once prominent and awe-inspiring but now an empty shell of its former glory. Its towers stood ominously above him, dark sentinels beside the massive gate of the fortress known as Arkadeus. It was a sight to behold, both awe-inspiring and fearsome to Lucius.
From the outside, Lucius saw mist emanating from the open gate and he walked closer, entering the place where darkness dwelled and awaited him. He passed slowly through the mold-ridden doors. Once inside, he found himself at the outer edge of a massive courtyard with a fountain at its center. The blue haze surrounded him and radiated a surreal light within the courtyard. On each side of the front gate there were stairs rising up to the ramparts of the stronghold where tattered flags hung lifelessly from the sentry posts along the inner wall. Broken spears and arrow shafts lay strewn on the courtyard floor, evidence of a grand battle fought long ago. Beyond the aged fountain, there was an arched doorway leading deeper inside the halls of the old fortress. Every few seconds, the fog would billow out from the doorway like smoke from the mouth of a pipe. Lucius made his way to the entrance, fearing what lay within the bowels of Arkadeus.
He peered inside and saw a long corridor with oak doors on each side. The mist floated above the floor and cast an eerie light on the cracked and moldy walls. A stench hung in the air, and as Lucius continued inside, it grew fouler, causing his stomach to wrench. He tried to open the doors within the corridor, but they were locked. And after the third door, he gave up and followed the mist toward the end of the hall.
Lucius stepped through another arched doorway and found himself inside a room full of overturned tables, shattered pots, and broken chairs. The mist was thicker inside this room and the stench stronger. A doorway to the right led to a descending staircase, while the one to his left ascended to some upper level of the dark fortress. Another doorway straight ahead was blocked with rubble and refuse. He glanced to his right and saw the fog billowing from that doorway, so he crept closer toward it. The putrid stench filled his nostrils and nauseated him. His uneasiness intensified as he descended the spiral staircase, but he could not retreat—some force beckoned him further down. The blue, hazy light seemed to brighten more with each step he took. Deepening dread began to overtake him, and he feared what evil lay at the end of his descent.
The staircase ended in a narrow hallway where the blue light shone steadily. Lucius heard a faint whisper calling to him from a glowing chamber at the end of the hall. He reluctantly drew closer to the light. Its gleam enticed him, pervading his every thought. The walls of the hallway bore arcane inscriptions and runes unknown to Lucius. He stopped just outside of the room and peered inside.
The stench was now burning his nostrils, and he fought to keep himself from retching. Within the round room, a blanket of fog covered the entire floor. He examined the walls of the chamber in the blue glow and noticed dark stains along the porous stone surface. Rusty hooks and chains hung from many places in the room. In the center of the room, Lucius noticed a small bump protruding from the mist. He squinted his eyes to examine the object in the dim light and soon realized it was glaring at him. The bump had two unblinking, dark eyes peering above the mist, keeping a steady gaze on Lucius. He wanted to run and hide from the bump's relentless stare, but his legs were frozen in place. The bump did not move, and Lucius did not look away, fearing any movement might bring about his end.
His fear kept him motionless. But after a few minutes, Lucius broke his stare and quickly looked around for any kind of weapon. He saw nothing except the swirling fog around him. His eyes darted back to the shadowy eyes at the center of the room. They had not stirred in the slightest. Lucius crouched down, keeping his eyes fixed on the creature before him. He ran his fingers along the cold, damp floor hastily searching for a weapon. His hand felt something hard. He quickly snatched it up and gripped it with his right hand, eyes still trained ahead. The object was light, but felt hard enough to inflict some damage to the creature with a powerful thrust.
He hesitated a moment before attacking the unblinking bump challenging him within the dancing blue cloud. With a yell, he dashed forward, raising his right arm over his head, ready to strike. But before he could smite his enemy, Lucius stopped abruptly and, to his horror, finally realized what lay at his feet.
A human skull upon a pile of bones stared blankly at him as he lowered his weapon. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest. He had never seen the remains of a man before, and it soon became apparent the chamber he had wandered into served a dark purpose. The round room was a dungeon of some sort, and the stains upon the walls were the blood of those unfortunate souls who had ventured inside. Panic swelled within him. He raised his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and gasped when he saw his weapon was a thigh bone. He dropped it and frantically wiped his hand on his vest. The sound of hoarse laughter from above startled him.
&n
bsp; Lucius looked overhead, but only saw a dark expanse. The laughter subsided, and a faint whisper called out his name. A chill ran down his spine as he searched the piercing darkness.
"Who goes there?" Lucius cried. There was no response. He trembled while he searched for movement of any kind. Nothing stirred.
Lucius stepped away from the center of the room, heading toward the staircase slowly. A metal squeak overhead followed by a thundering flap of mighty wings alarmed him. Strong gusts of air from above rushed all around his body. The fog was blown off the floor momentarily, revealing scattered bones and bloodstains throughout the dungeon. Lucius' knees buckled, and he hit the floor hard.
A guttural bellow resonated in the darkness. The foul stench finally caused Lucius to vomit. And as he did so, a huge beast descended upon him. Its large talons crushed the pile of bones underfoot with a thunderous crack. Lucius looked up to meet the behemoth's glare. Its eyes were intense sapphires shining through the dimly lit room. The monster stood upright on its back legs, spreading its wings at a span that nearly touched the opposite walls of the room. Its breath reeked of death and decay. Large fangs inside a jaw the size of a man's body formed a wicked smile on the creature's face. Black scales adorned its body, save for the monster's belly, which was a pinkish hue. The scales shimmered in the dark. And as the creature craned its long neck, they lifted to reveal gills like those of a fish. With a sudden jerk, the creature folded its wings and inhaled deeply. It opened its jaw and released the blue mist from its gaping gills. The mist floated down above the floor and once again filled the halls of Arkadeus.
"Lucius, you have come to me," the creature said, lowering its head and staring at him.
"What do you want with me, demon?" Lucius said, cowering before the monster, which let out another laugh.
"I am no demon. I am a dragon, fool! Kraegyn is my name, Lord of Arkadeus and of all the aeries of Ghadarya. Fear my wrath, Ellyllei."
The Shaman of Neroterra (Tales of Azuleah) Page 5