“Now hold still: this won’t take long. Though I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt a little,” Alistair said. He raised his staff and began a rhythmic incantation.
The druid’s voice was difficult to hear thanks to Lucius’ snickering. Siegfried scowled at him as Alistair’s staff began to glow.
CHAPTER 5
THE KING’S MEN
Silas marched slowly through the ornate hallway leading to the king’s chamber. Beams of light poured through windows on each side of the long hall, creating a soft glow around him. The Aldronian standard, a blue flag emblazoned with a flying eagle, hung proudly on every wall. Footmen and maids scurried past, bowing or curtsying to him. He smiled politely in return, an act looked down upon by people of his standing. It made no sense to him how so many nobles derided their servants. His mother had taught him to always be kind to the less fortunate. The memory of her gentle lectures on the subject came to him now as he passed a pair of flower vases. Freshly-picked azaleas were arranged in the large vases, enveloping the bright hall in a delightful fragrance. His mother loved the flowers and insisted that the vases on the royal floor were always stocked with them. When she died, his father decreed that no room in the palace would be without azaleas. The sight and scent of the flowers would be a constant reminder of his mother’s loving presence.
Nobles, courtesans, and bards from the kingdom chattered in hushed tones as he approached. They were assembled expectantly, waiting to hear the latest news now that the Prince of Aldron had arrived home on a successful campaign against the Draknoir. The trip home had been arduous. Hundreds of men were wounded, and they’d suffered miserably on horseback and on foot. His own vassal and confidante, Sir Rainier, had suffered burns from dragon fire that disfigured his face.
Despite the heavy cost, Aldron had won a victory against Memnon and his vile forces in Ithileo. Silas only wished he could have returned home sooner to defend the city against the dragon attack.
He approached the large double-door entrance to the king’s throne room. The guards on each side saluted him, then proceeded to open the doors. Inside, his father, King Alfryd, sat on his throne with two noblemen flanking him below the dais: Duke Weifar of the Golden Plains, and Lord Blaise of the Crimson Shores. Silas had known both men most of his life, and they were loyal counselors to the king.
Duke Weifar was a middle-aged man who looked like a commoner with his unkempt hair and haphazardly shaven face. He stood slightly stooped, wearing a dull garnache beneath a gray-green cape with visible fraying along the hem. Despite the duke’s ragged appearance, he was a kind, soft-spoken man who dutifully served the kingdom. Lord Blaise, in contrast, was tall and thin with impeccable posture that exuded his stature. His blond mustache was neatly trimmed, and his hair slicked back with grease. He watched Silas approach with a mixture of deference and indignation. Silas never liked the man due to his harsh views toward the lower classes and his strict military manner, but he was loyal and capable in his own right.
Sitting on his throne, King Alfryd, the sovereign ruler of Joppa and its handful of fiefdoms, drummed his fingers impatiently as he listened to the two men discuss some frivolous matter of state. In the months Silas had been gone, his father looked older than he remembered, and much more haggard in appearance. The destruction of large sections of the city by dragon fire must be weighing heavily on him, Silas thought.
He bowed before the three men and stood at attention. “Silas Dermont, Captain of the Royal Guard and commander of the Drachengarde, reporting for service, my lords,” he said stiffly.
“Oh for goodness sakes, Cutter, at ease,” his father said with a wry smile. “Welcome home, son. I’m glad you’ve made it back from that dreadful campaign in the north.”
“Thank you, Father. It’s great to be home again, even though it is an ill time.”
“Indeed it is. First the Draknoir, now we have to contend with these devilish dragons! It’s giving me heart palpitations,” Lord Blaise said.
“I’m surprised you’re still standing, Blaise. All of this talk of a battle being led by a Prince is so nonconformist,” Duke Weifar said jokingly.
Blaise turned beet red and glared at the man. “I have nothing against royals waging war,” he shot back. He quickly turned to Silas, then added, “I’m just not of the opinion that his Majesty should be at the frontlines of battle when the men-at-arms could handle it. That is their charge, my lord.”
“Sometimes the best way to increase morale among those men is for their leader to be at the front lines, Lord Blaise,” Silas said.
Blaise cleared his throat, but said nothing. Behind him, Duke Weifar chuckled to himself.
“All right, now let’s not have any debates on military propriety here. We have more pressing matters to discuss,” Alfryd declared. He rose from his throne and descended the dais to join the three men.
After embracing his father, Silas followed the king to a corner of the throne room where an oval table sat. On top of the table was a large map of Azuleah with colored markers denoting locations where Aldron’s troops and scouts were stationed. A large collection of blue markers situated along the border of Ithileo marked where Silas had left a small contingent of soldiers to scout the area. To the northwest, Silas saw half a dozen yellow markers peppered around the Kroshen Wastes and the foothills outside of Arkadeus.
“You have scouts in Kroshen? Why?” he asked.
“We have learned that Memnon is mobilizing his forces from Nasgothar to Arkadeus,” King Alfryd said with a grim expression. “I lost seven scouts before the eighth reported back the information.”
“Why are they mobilizing there? Wouldn’t Ithileo be more practical? It gives them access to the Sea of Lagrimas, and we’ve fought over it for a decade,” Silas said. “Not to mention Arkadeus is in ruins.”
“All good points. But you forget, Arkadeus has symbolic significance to the Draknoir. We’ve already surmised that the dragons have allied with them just like the old days, so naturally Arkadeus is suitable for a headquarters for both forces,” Duke Weifar explained.
“It also gives them access to the Dulan,” Lord Blaise added, running his finger along the stretch of the Dulan River on the map. “They can put up strong defenses along the banks from an eastward attack, and the Kroshen Wastes to the west will prove to be difficult terrain for any invading force.”
“Yes, all excellent observations,” King Alfryd said in an annoyed voice that Silas knew all too well. “But we still control Ithileo, thanks to Silas’ efforts. Could we not bring our forces through there?”
“We could, your Majesty, but I think Memnon expects us to,” Weifar admitted. “The clusters of forest will make for difficult fighting. Hemming our troops in there, he could easily ambush us—”
“Or bring a firestorm from the sky,” Silas interjected. “They pulled that trick on us in the battle. A single dragon decimated our front lines.”
“Yes, but surely the Drachengarde could take down any dragons we encounter?” Blaise reasoned.
Silas crossed his arms and considered the point. The Drachengarde were trained for just this kind of scenario. They had swords and arrowheads forged from efydd, capable of piercing dragon hide. Their battle strategy focused on concentrated attacks as a group, with each warrior utilizing a different skillset to take down a dragon. He’d run hundreds of drills over the years with his men and knew they were well-equipped to slay a dragon. But he’d also experienced how difficult it was to kill a single dragon. Even if they could organize a successful assault on a trio of dragons, the cost of foot soldiers would still be high.
When he explained his concerns to the other men, they conceded the point.
“So in effect, we need more men for this fight,” Alfryd said. “As I had originally thought. It’s a good thing we sent summons to the Four Houses.”
Silas straightened. “The Four Houses of Azuleah are coming to aid us?”
Alfryd shook his head. “Not quite. I’ve summoned them for an em
ergency council to discuss this new threat from Ghadarya. We will do our best to present our case and implore them to send their forces.”
“Father, perhaps the House of Sangre might listen to our cause, but Tarshish and Allesmeade? They will sit out this fight as long as possible,” Silas said with a frown.
“I believe the king was right to summon them,” Blaise countered. He pointed to Allesmeade on the map. “Lord Brandewulf is perfectly situated in Ragnara. We could launch a counteroffensive on Memnon’s own lands with his help.”
“Brandewulf is a Draknoir sympathizer, Blaise. He will not fight, and frankly, I don’t trust the man,” Silas admitted. The last time he had spoken with Brandewulf, at the Springtide, the man had openly ridiculed Aldron’s stance against the orcs of Neroterra. It was a humiliating fiasco that made the young noble’s braggart manner all the more clear.
“Silas, we must put our feelings aside and try to unite the Four Houses. Aldron, Sangre, Tarshish, and Allesmeade must fight together or die apart. I see no other way to defeat a threat from both Ghadarya and Nasgothar,” his father said.
Silas sighed, looking at each of them. None of these men, veterans and consummate statesmen, looked ready to budge on the issue. In the years following Cervantes’ death, the Four Houses were a strong alliance against the continued Draknoir threat in the west. The united houses of the nobility were a consolidation of power in Gilead Palace. But as time went on and peace reigned in Joppa, the ties weakened and became more of a formality than a true union. Every year the Four Houses met in the Springtide Festival to celebrate their peaceful alliance and mutual trust, but Silas knew it was all a facade, the event merely an occasion to show off each House’s wealth and superiority rather than a gathering of equals. The closest thing to a joint military campaign between the Houses in recent memory had been Silas’ trip to Neroterra the previous winter. He and Felix Gryn, Governor of Tarshish, had fought against a goblin threat in the orc city. Though they subdued the goblin sorcerer, Urbengal, the mission had only increased Silas’ misgivings about Gryn and his unscrupulous ways. Aldron would do better to reach out beyond the human civilizations in Joppa for assistance.
“What if we spoke with Numa or Evingrad?” Silas asked. “This dual threat of Draknoir and dragons affects them too.”
The other men looked shocked at the suggestion. “The elves? They don’t care what happens to us. They busy themselves with their D’arya worship and their secretive affairs,” Blaise scoffed.
Alfryd nodded. “Silas, no man has stepped foot in Evingrad for centuries. And you’ve been to Numa. They are embroiled in a civil war and incapable of helping us even if they wanted to.”
“Fine, what about the dwarves or the people of Und? Surely we have friends outside of our borders!” Silas said, reaching for some agreement.
“My lord,” Weifar said gently. “Those peoples care even less about us than the elves. No envoy we’ve sent has ever been heard. I’m sorry, but the Four Houses must be united in this fight.”
Silas let out a sigh of exasperation. He knew this wouldn’t go well. But he still had one more idea to bring to the table: the Requiem Sword. Ever since he’d left Violet and Avani prior to the battle in Ithileo, the artifact had been the chief priority on his mind. He knew the blade could unite their kingdom against Memnon and Kraegyn. Though centuries had passed since the Requiem Sword held significance to common folk, the legend surrounding the sword of Cervantes was not far from the minds of Aldronians. Tales of the sword’s power among the Drachengarde spread far and wide, passed down to younger generations.
He knew if he could lay out his plan in a reasonable manner, his father and the two lords might seriously consider it. Of course, the task would be much easier if he had the sword in his possession, but he could easily summon Violet and Avani to give testimony before the king and tell him of their mission to reforge it.
“Gentlemen, there is one more option with regard to uniting the Four Houses,” Silas began.
Alfryd looked at him with furrowed brows. “Yes, Silas. What is it?”
“In my previous letter to you, I spoke of the ambush we encountered in Ithileo and how a group of travelers aided me when I was injured. What I didn’t reveal then was that one of these travelers is a blacksmith—a woman. She uncovered ancient documents that give the exact materials needed to reforge the Requiem Sword,” he said.
The widened eyes and gaping mouths of all three men was mildly satisfying.
Silas let the revelation sink in before he continued. “I’ve looked at the documents and believe they are legitimate.
“Based on what I have learned from this blacksmith and her helper, there is an elvish prophecy that foretells the rise of Kraegyn once more, and a dark age of Draknoir and Memnon ruling over the world that is thwarted by whoever wields the blade of Cervantes. This must be why Memnon is converging his forces in Arkadeus. He is setting up a master plan to bring back the Black Dragon and usurp power in Azuleah. The Requiem Sword is our best hope of defeating them,” Silas explained.
Blaise frowned and shook his head. “These are faerie stories, your Majesty. I’ve heard of this prophecy the prince speaks of—the ‘Ellyllei prophecy,’ I believe is what it’s called. It’s a fiction developed by the elves. The Requiem Sword was lost ages ago, and the Black Dragon was defeated. Ghadarya is unorganized and Memnon is seeking to attain the same glory as his ancestors, but if we rally the Four Houses, we can prevent this. We need not fear the propaganda of Nasgothar about Kraegyn’s second coming.”
Silas glared at Blaise, but the nobleman kept his eyes on the king. Weifar was the next to speak. “If such a thing were true—about Kraegyn returning—I believe it would be imperative for us to at least hear the evidence given by this…blacksmith?” He looked to Silas for help.
“Yes, she is a blacksmith from Sylvania. We can have her give a testimony and show us the documents. I can vouch for their validity,” Silas said confidently.
“You vouch for the validity of a blacksmith from Sylvania who is not only a woman, but whom you’ve only known for a few days?” his father asked, raising his eyebrows.
Silas swallowed hard. Naomi the blacksmith was in fact Avani, princess of Numa, but he didn’t wish to divulge that information out of turn. His word would have to be good enough. “Yes, Father. You must trust me on this. I believe she is telling the truth. And if you do not believe her, then believe the lady who accompanies her, Violet Pulfer.”
“Who?” Blaise asked.
“The woman who saved me from certain death on the banks of the Dulan,” Silas replied.
His thoughts now drifted to Violet. For the last month, he’d given little time to thinking about her. The campaign in Ithileo, the Requiem Sword, and the needs of his men had occupied his mind. But now for a fleeting moment, he recalled their kiss under the moonlight. She held his heart in a way no woman had, yet he barely knew much about her. His father certainly wouldn’t approve of the attraction. A son of Dermont attached to a common girl from the forest? It was a royal scandal waiting to be exposed.
But he didn’t care.
His disdain for the nobility’s condescension toward the lower classes always sickened him. Although his father was a kind, generous monarch to all of his subjects, the practice of noble superiority ran deep in Gilead Palace. Perhaps he was more like his mother, who went out of her way to bring food to the poor and visited the sick shelters on Faraboux Lane in the peasant district. He always admired his mother’s sacrificial nature. After her and his sister’s deaths, he sought to keep that selflessness alive in the lavish courtly life.
“Silas, did you hear me?” Alfryd asked.
Silas looked up with a start at his father. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Where is this Violet and the blacksmith?” the king asked, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Last I saw them, they were traveling here to hold an audience with you. I gave Mother’s ring to Violet, so she could prove her connection with me and
expedite the meeting,” Silas said.
“You did what? Your mother’s ring—” Alfryd stopped abruptly, allowing his temper to settle. He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Never mind. I haven’t seen anyone named Violet in the hundreds of audiences I’ve held since the attack.”
Silas’ heart beat faster at the sudden realization that Violet and Avani were traveling to Aldron when the attack occurred. If they had lodged in any of the inns in the peasant district, they could be dead.
“Did no one visit the palace with my mother’s ring?” he asked, trying to stay calm.
Duke Weifar and Lord Blaise looked at each other and shrugged. “We’ve only seen nobles and scouts these past few weeks, arriving to give reports to the king, and the usual business of course,” Weifar admitted. “Perhaps Sir Robert, the seneschal, might know more—”
“Sir Robert, of course,” Silas said, hoping the seneschal would have answers. He crossed the throne room toward the doors and summoned one of the guards. “Tell Sir Robert I want to see him at once,” he ordered.
The guard bowed and walked off briskly to fetch the seneschal.
“Everything all right, Silas?” his father inquired, unused to the sudden breach of protocol displayed by his son.
Normally, Silas would have excused himself politely to the other lords in the room, but he didn’t care about proper manners at the moment. He needed to know Violet was alive and safe.
“I hope so,” Silas said curtly.
A few minutes later, Sir Robert entered the chamber and approached the table where they were gathered. Robert’s face was pale, and he swallowed several times before bowing to the king and standing at attention.
Silas was the first to address the seneschal. “Sir Robert, did you have any visitors to the palace by the name of Violet or Naomi?”
Sir Robert raised his eyebrows, puzzled by the question. “I can’t be sure, my lord. We’ve had many visitors in the last few weeks given the recent attacks and the state of things.”
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 5
